#sunset in the rearview

[presentsoul]

Rearview Winters

[dyingfeline]

3434

[suchalovelylittlething]

[perfectstormlinnea]

sunset drive

[81sainz]

DIET PEPSI ★ L. NORRIS

★ PAIRING: boyfriend!lando x female!reader

★ GENRE: NSFW

★ SUMMARY: in which lando pulls over to watch the sunset with you in his porsche; things take a turn from there.

inspired by “diet pepsi” by addison rae

★ WORD COUNT: 1.2k

★ WARNINGS: car sex, semi public sex, nasty kissing, making out, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, teeny bit of praise cause I can’t help myself, cumshot. lando is soooo sweet. I think that is all! please be noted this is only semi proofread.

★ AUTHORS NOTE: finally! making my formula 1 fic debut! I hope you all enjoy this. I started writing this somewhere before summer break and unfortunately just got to finishing it. life…am I right? I guess the lyrics hold true because my boy has won 2 times since then! I know this one’s a bit short, but feedback is appreciated!

“Are you sure no one is up here?” you asked your boyfriend as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

Lando reached over slightly and gave your thigh an affirmative squeeze. “It’s fine, I was looking around.”

The two of you were on a drive in his 911 carrera and pulled off to a small spot up on a hill that overlooked the city. It was later in the evening and the sun was setting; casting an orange glow over Lando when he turned to you.

“You look so pretty in the light. Come here.”

Lando adjusted his seat before helping you over the center console and gearshift of his vehicle.

“I don’t want to break anything.” You spoke out loud with a laugh as Lando had his hand on your leg to help you.

Lando shushed you. “You’re fine, I’ve got you.”

You were in his lap within seconds; adjusting the skirt that you were wearing slightly to get more comfortable.

“Comfortable?” Lando brushed your hair off of your shoulder before planting a few kisses softly onto your skin near your collarbone.

You hummed in response, nodding before combing your fingers through his soft curly hair as his mouth made its way up to your neck.

You let a small whimper escape your lips when Lando’s teeth scraped your skin slightly.

Your hand tightened in his hair as you rocked your hips into his lap; feeling his bulge through his jeans.

“Fuck.” Lando swore under his breath as his hands roamed your thighs and to the curve of your ass underneath your skirt.

“I want this off of you.” Lando glanced up at you quickly for any sign for him to stop before unbuttoning and unzipping your skirt, removing the item of clothing from your body and throwing it into the passenger seat.

You mentally thanked yourself for the outfit choice of yours.

“Wow.” Lando let out a sigh, leaning to kiss you again as his hands returned to their place on your thighs, and moved up to your waist.

You were eager for him, grabbing a hold of his white button down shirt for any way to get him closer to you.

Lando shifted in the driver seat, his hands holding your hips as his jeans brushed against your cunt.

You let out a moan into his mouth, and Lando took that as an opportunity to tongue kiss you; reaching up to grab the nape of your neck with one of his hands.

Pulling away slightly with a hum, you noticed Lando’s breathing to be slightly more erratic than before.

“Baby, I need you..” Your voice faded when Lando kissed you again. You knew you didn’t really have to say anything; Lando knew you like the back of his hand.

“I’ve got you.” Lando mumbled, guiding you to rest your knee up onto the door panel of his porsche. “Stay like this for me, ok?”

You nodded, biting down onto your bottom lip as he locked eye contact with you.

Lando quickly glanced in his rearview mirror to check if anyone was around; still nobody.

He pulled the fabric of your underwear to the side, audibly groaning at how easily his middle and ring finger slipped inside of you.

You let out a whimper, squeezing onto his bicep for some stability.

“Oh my fuck, why didn’t I take you home?” Lando was talking to himself, because there was no way you were going to answer him.

There was absolutely no space between the two of you, as this car was not ideal.

You could hear the squelching noise coming from underneath you, making you look down; covering your mouth to stifle your moans. There was nothing that Lando hated more than when you hid from him.

“Get that hand off of your mouth, sweetheart.” Lando spoke, slipping a third finger into your cunt; knowing you’d react.

“Good girl, gonna cum for me?” Lando asked, kissing your jaw and down towards your collarbone. “Hmm?”

You were breathless, but still managed to use your words. “No.” You paused, your voice sounding like a whimper, grabbing onto Lando’s shirt as you tried not to fall apart. “I need you to fuck me, please.”

“Fuck, are you sure?” He asked, his face centimeters from yours. Lando was taken aback at your forwardness, but willing to do anything you wanted.

You hummed, nodding before kissing him. You moved your hand down between your legs; feeling the now very prominent bulge in Lando’s jeans.

He let out a deep throaty groan at the contact. “Fuck.”

You tried to unbutton his jeans really fast, but with your position on his lap it wasn’t working.

“I got it, I got it.” Lando’s larger and more steady hand replaced yours as he worked his pants down to leave enough room for his cock.

You let out a sigh when you felt him teasing the head of his leaking cock against your folds. “I can’t believe we’re doing this here.”

“What?” Your voice was breathy as Lando gripped your hips to lower you down onto him. Your question was instantly replaced by a moan of his name.

“Nothing.” Lando grunted before throwing his head back. “God, how do you feel so fucking good?”

He still had a grip on your hips; hitting all of the right spots that drove you insane.

“Hmm- Fuck!” You cried out. “Right there, right there.”

“Shit.” Lando swore, letting go of you with one hand to have you look at him. “You’re cumming already?”

You eagerly nodded before Lando suddenly crashed his lips with yours. The kiss is sloppy; messy.

You could feel your thighs starting to ache, and a tinge of overstimulation when Lando applied pressure to your clit with the pads of his fingers.

Gasping, you pulled away from the kiss, swearing under your breath as Lando was pulling another orgasm from you so quickly as you still fucked yourself on his cock.

“You can give me one more, yeah?” His voice was low as his hot breath ghosted your face. “Make a fucking mess out of my car.”

In your attempts to slam down onto him harder, your rhythm faltered as you came again. Your legs were now shaking as you clenched around Lando’s cock.

The sun was almost down, making it somewhat difficult to see his reaction; but you had an inkling that he had to be close.

“Lando…” Your voice was a slight whimper again, making Lando wince. “Cum in me, please.”

“God im close, im really fucking close.” Lando spoke, sucking in a shallow breath through gritted teeth.

It wasn’t too long after that he finally reached his peak, nearly holding you down on his lap as he grunted expletives as he tried to be as quiet as possible.

“Lando…” you winced as you already felt the mess between your legs. “Stay inside of me like this.” You leaned into him, resting your head on his heaving chest.

“We can’t stay here.” You could tell Lando was smirking by the way his voice sounded. One of his hands smoothed out your hair before he kissed the top of your head. “I know you’re tired, but we can’t.”

“I know.” You huffed, exaggerating a pouty attitude. “You’re so warm.” You kissed Lando near his mouth a few times, making him scrunch his nose.

Finally you sat up, letting Lando help you off of his lap and into the passenger seat. The two of you fixed your clothing before Lando leaned over the center console to kiss you.

“Okay, take me home.”

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | the end of the season '24

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : quiet nights at the hotel after a long race

୨ৎ : genre : some are happy & some are sad ୨ৎ : tws : none ୨ৎ : word count : 2531

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i am so proud of lando for being able to secure that wcc for mclaren, but i am SO sad seeing carlos drive in red for the last time, and seeing lewis have his last drive with mercedes :c

ʚ・max verstappen

the post-race buzz of abu dhabi had faded, leaving a quiet calm in max's hotel suite. he sprawled on the sofa, phone in hand, scrolling through memes with that trademark deadpan expression. p6 wasn't great—definitely not how he wanted to wrap the season—but the world championship trophy on his shelf said it all. he was untouchable, even on an off day.

you dropped onto the couch next to him, giving him a small smile. "not quite the result we were hoping for, huh?"

he tilted his head, barely fazed. "meh. one bad race doesn’t erase a good season." he tossed his phone onto the table, already over it. "at least now i don’t have to hear the word 'tyre degradation' for a while."

"exactly," you agreed, nudging his arm. "just endless beaches, lazy mornings, and maybe some sketchy tourist traps."

he smirked, his eyes lighting up for the first time all evening. "knowing you, that probably means camel racing or some falcon photo op where i end up holding a bird for instagram."

you laughed. "don’t pretend like you wouldn’t secretly enjoy it."

"maybe," he admitted with a faint grin. "but only if there’s good food after. priorities, you know?"

as you leaned into his side, you felt the tension melt away from him. the season was done, the pressure gone. and for once, max verstappen, the reigning world champion, was just a guy on a couch, ready to trade apexes for sunsets and podiums for bad tourist selfies.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

a bittersweet stillness filled the room—p4 after starting sixteenth was nothing short of remarkable, but tonight marked the end of an era. his last race with mercedes. the silver star that had defined his legacy, his dominance, was now in the rearview mirror.

you leaned into him, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. "what a drive, lewis," you murmured, pride laced in your voice. "it was magic out there, just like always."

he smiled faintly, his gaze fixed on the city lights beyond the window. "it felt good, you know? pushing through the field like that. it’s how i want to remember this team—fighting, always fighting." his voice was steady, but there was a weight behind it, a depth only you could hear.

"it’s hard to see this chapter end," you said softly, running your fingers along the edge of his hand. "so many years, so much history. but watching you today—watching you fight with every ounce of heart you’ve got—it’s impossible not to feel proud."

he turned to you then, his eyes warm, a quiet fire still flickering in them. "it’s sad, yeah. mercedes is family. but every journey has its end, and every end makes way for something new. it’s time. time for a new challenge."

you smiled, squeezing his hand. "and ferrari red will suit you, no doubt about it."

that earned a laugh from him, light but genuine, his shoulders finally easing. "we’ll see. it’ll be... different. but i’m ready for different. i have to be."

"you’ll thrive," you said, meeting his gaze with steady confidence. "because that’s who you are, lewis. you don’t just race—you redefine what’s possible."

he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "and having you by my side, that makes it all the better."

the evening stretched on as you reminisced about mercedes—about the victories, the struggles, the growth. there was sadness, yes, but also hope, an electric anticipation for the future. ferrari would be a new challenge, but lewis hamilton was built for challenges. and you? you’d be there, through it all, cheering him on as he wrote the next chapter of his already legendary story.

ʚ・george russell

the air in george’s hotel room was thick with emotions. lewis—his teammate, his mentor, his benchmark—was leaving for ferrari. the weight of it sat heavily on his shoulders, a silent pressure he hadn’t quite found the words to unpack.

you settled beside him on the bed, your hand resting lightly on his back. "you drove brilliantly today, george," you said softly, your tone filled with pride.

he gave you a faint smile, though his usual spark was dimmed. "thanks. it’s just... weird, you know? lewis not being here next season. he's been... well, everything. a teammate, a rival, someone to learn from."

"it’s a huge change," you agreed, your voice gentle. "but today, you showed exactly what you’re made of. you didn’t just race—you fought, george. and everyone saw it."

he turned to look at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "but can i really lead this team now? without him?"

you met his gaze firmly, your conviction unwavering. "you don’t have to be lewis, george. you’ve already proven you're your own kind of leader—sharp, determined, and always hungry for more. you don’t need to fill anyone’s shoes because you’re carving out your own legacy."

his shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension giving way to a spark of confidence. "it’s just... lewis set such a high bar. and stepping into that space—it’s a lot."

"you don’t need to step into his space," you reminded him with a reassuring smile. "you’ve earned your own, george. you’ve fought for it, and you’re more than ready to take the reins."

he took a deep breath, the weight on his chest easing as resolve began to take its place. "this is my chance, isn’t it? to really prove myself."

"absolutely," you said, squeezing his hand. "and i’ll be right here, every step of the way, cheering for you."

his smile widened, more genuine this time, and he leaned in to kiss you softly. "thank you, love" he murmured. "that means everything."

as the night stretched on, you stayed by his side, feeling his determination grow stronger with each passing moment. george russell was ready to rise, ready to lead, and ready to show the world exactly why he belonged at the front of the pack. and you couldn’t wait to witness it all.

ʚ・carlos sainz

arlos sank onto the balcony of his hotel suite, the cool night air brushing against his skin, a sharp contrast to the adrenaline and heat of the race. it his last race with ferrari, the team that had become more than a job.

you slipped behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, resting your chin lightly on him. "carlos," you said softly, your voice thick with emotion, "you were amazing today. truly incredible."

he let out a quiet sigh, leaning back into your embrace, his eyes fixed on the city lights. "yeah, it was a good one. but leaving ferrari? that’s… it’s hard. really hard."

"i know," you murmured, your cheek pressing against his. "you and charles, ferrari… it felt like it fit, like it was meant to be."

he nodded slowly, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. "we were a good team, weren’t we? two competitive guys who somehow managed not to kill each other every weekend," he joked, though his voice carried a faint sadness. "but, ah, next season? it’s going to feel strange not seeing his stupid smile in the garage."

you chuckled softly. "but you’ll always have the memories," you reminded him. "and you’ll make new ones, new rivalries, new podiums."

he turned to look at you, his warm brown eyes meeting yours. "do you remember my first race with ferrari?" he asked, a grin breaking through the sadness. "lando was on the podium with me. and now he’s here again for my last one. crazy, no?"

"it’s like the universe has a sense of humor," you said, your smile mirroring his. "full circle moments like that don’t just happen by chance."

he laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "yeah, maybe. or maybe it’s just one of those little things that reminds me to enjoy the journey."

you held him close, knowing how much leaving ferrari meant to him. the passion, the heart, the pure determination he’d poured into every single lap. but you also knew that carlos was unstoppable—wherever he went, whatever he faced, he would find his way to the top.

"wherever you go, whatever happens," you said, your voice steady and filled with love, "i’ll be right there, cheering you on."

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in tightly. "i know," he whispered, his voice thick with gratitude. "and that’s what keeps me grounded. thank you, mi amor."

ʚ・charles leclerc

the roar of the abu dhabi crowd had faded, leaving only the soft hum of the air conditioning in charles’ hotel room. he sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the trophy for his third-place finish. starting p19 after that engine penalty, clawing his way up to the podium—it was an extraordinary drive. but there was a weight in his gaze, a shadow of disappointment.

you sat beside him, your hand finding his. "charles," you said gently, your voice full of admiration, "that was incredible. you were on fire out there."

he offered a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "it wasn’t enough," he muttered, his voice heavy with frustration. "we were so close to the WCC... but mclaren just had too much."

"you did everything you could," you assured him, squeezing his hand. "no one could have driven that race better. you started from the back, charles. and you still ended up on the podium. that’s... that’s amazing."

he ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. "i know, i know. it's just hard. we were so close. it stings."

you gently cupped his face, lifting his chin so his eyes met yours. "charles leclerc, you are one of the best out there. don’t let this one race make you forget everything you've accomplished this season. you fought for every position, you never gave up, and you made us all proud."

a real smile tugged at his lips, the weight on his shoulders easing slightly. "thank you," he whispered, leaning into your touch. "i needed that."

there was a brief pause, and a flicker of sadness passed through his eyes. "it’s gonna be strange without carlos next year," he said quietly, his voice low.

you felt a pang for him. you knew how close he and carlos were, both on and off the track. "i know," you murmured, your heart aching. "but you'll still have him as a friend. and you’ll both keep achieving incredible things."

he nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "he’s like a brother to me. it won’t be the same without him."

you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. "i know it won’t," you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. "but i know you ,charles. you'll adapt. you’ll keep shining."

he held you tighter, drawing comfort from your embrace, "what would i do without you mon amour."

you let out a soft laugh and place a gentle peck on his lips, "you'd probably be a mess without me, i love you."

"i love you too." he told you, snuggling closer.

ʚ・lando norris

the echoes of the abu dhabi celebrations had finally faded, leaving a peaceful quiet in lando's hotel suite. he was sprawled on the sofa, the trophy resting on his chest, his eyes half-closed as a contented sigh escaped his lips. the excitement from the victory was still buzzing inside him, but a calm had settled in, like he was finally letting everything sink in.

you curled up beside him, your finger tracing the lines of the trophy. "still can't believe it, huh?" you whispered, a soft smile on your face.

lando chuckled, a grin tugging at his lips. "yeah, it's still kinda crazy. like, i feel like i'm dreaming, but don't wanna wake up."

"you were amazing today, lando," you said, your voice filled with pride. "and the whole season, really. you led mclaren to victory. it’s historic."

he grinned, his eyes lighting up. "yeah, it really is, isn’t it? bringing mclaren back to the top after all this time... feels unreal. but in the best way possible."

"you deserve all the praise," you reassured him, snuggling closer. "you’ve worked so hard, and you’ve grown so much as a driver. i'm so proud of you."

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in closer. "couldn’t have done it without you, honestly," he murmured, his voice warm. "you’ve been with me through all of it—my biggest supporter."

"and i always will be," you promised, feeling your heart swell. "through the wins, the losses, i’ll be right here."

he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss. "and that's all i need," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

as you lay together, bathed in the soft glow of the hotel room lights, the weight of his achievement settled in. lando norris, the man who led mclaren to the top of the world again, securing the WCC after 26 years. this moment, this victory, would be something you both would remember forever. the future was bright, and you couldn’t wait for the next adventure—together.

ʚ・oscar piastri

back in the comfort of his hotel room, oscar kicked back with a grin plastered on his face, the adrenaline from the race replaced by his usual playful energy. p10 wasn’t the podium he’d wanted, but who cared? mclaren had just clinched the WCC, and that was more than enough for him.

“we did it!” he shouted, arms thrown up in the air, his grin wider than ever. “champions, baby!”

you chuckled, shaking your head at his excitement. “you guys were incredible today, oscar. especially lando, bringing home the win.”

“yeah, lando was on fire!” oscar agreed, grabbing a celebratory drink from the minibar. “though, i wouldn’t mind a podium myself…” he paused, a glint of mischief lighting up his eyes. “if it weren’t for someone deciding to use my car as a brake early on.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your smile. “ah, yes. max verstappen. saw that incident. bit of a rough start, huh?”

“rough is putting it lightly,” oscar grumbled with a smirk, taking a swig of his drink. “the guy treated me like a bowling pin! swear i saw stars, maybe even a few constellations.”

“well, you can’t deny it made for some exciting racing,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

“exciting for you, maybe,” he shot back with a grin. “i was just trying to survive out there! dodging debris, angry drivers... felt like a demolition derby.”

“but you made it through,” you pointed out. “and you contributed to the team’s victory. that’s what counts.”

he gave a dramatic nod, his humor returning full force. “true, true. who needs a podium when you’ve got bragging rights for surviving a verstappen torpedo?”

you burst out laughing, unable to hold back. “that’s the spirit babe."

as laughter filled the room, you couldn’t help but admire oscar’s resilience and ability to keep things light, even when things didn’t go his way. he might’ve been a little salty about the verstappen incident, but he was genuinely happy for the team, and that’s what made him such an asset. next season was going to be one to remember, and you couldn’t wait to see what this rising star would achieve.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 || 𝚊𝚣𝚣𝚒 𝚏𝚞𝚍𝚍 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you're loopy from anesthesia

You should’ve known Azzi wouldn’t let you go through your wisdom teeth extraction alone. The moment you brought it up in your shared dorm room, nervously fiddling with your hoodie strings, she’d immediately put a hand on your shoulder and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

And she was. Right along with Paige, KK, and Sarah, who insisted on tagging along purely for the chaos. You, on the other hand, were too doped up on anesthesia to know or care.

Which brings us to now.

The car is quiet for all of two seconds before you open your mouth.

“I think I’m in love with the sun.”

Paige, driving, glances in the rearview mirror with a smirk. “Weird way to say Azzi’s name, but okay.”

Azzi, who’s seated next to you in the backseat, watches as you lean dramatically against her shoulder, cheeks puffed out and eyelids drooping. “She’s prettier than the sun,” you murmur, as if it’s a grave injustice. “Like… have you seen her face? Her face is… like… like art. Like a Picasso.”

“Picasso?” KK chokes out from the passenger seat. “Bro. You sure you don’t mean a Renaissance painting or something?”

“Nooooo,” you whine, head tilting toward Azzi again. “I mean like the good Picassos. The ones that don’t look all melty and weird. She's the opposite of melty. She’s all, like… symmetrical and stuff.”

You blink up at your girlfriend, heart doing cartwheels in your chest. “You… you’re so pretty,” you mumble around the gauze, voice muffled and drowsy. “Like. Like so pretty. So. Prettttyyy. Prettier than like. Flowers. And like… sunset on a beach… and like that sparkly filter on Instagram.”

Paige, trying to focus on driving, lets out a snort-laugh. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

“No like. Like I love your face,” you continue, staring at her with awe, like you’ve never seen her before. “You have like. Eyes. And like. Cheekbones. And your lips are like. Boom.”

“Boom?” Sarah asks from the seat behind you. She’s riding along just for the entertainment at this point. “What does boom mean exactly?”

You lift your hand (with great effort) and vaguely make an explosion motion next to your head. “Boom,” you repeat. “Like. BOOM. Lips go boom.”

KK is wheezing.

“Oh my god,” KK says, recording all of it on her phone. “Azzi, you better save this. For her birthday. Her wedding. Her Hall of Fame induction.”

You tilt your head dramatically against Azzi’s arm, face scrunched in pure adoration. “And your arms, oh my god. Your arms are like… Greek statues. But like better. Like real life. And soft. But also strong. Like you could carry me and I’d be like ‘thank you I live here now’.”

Azzi chuckles softly, brushing a loose strand of hair off your forehead. “Thanks, baby,” she says sweetly, but her eyes are already dancing with amusement.

You blink up at her. “Your arms. Your arms are my favorite arms in the world.”

Paige is wheezing now. “Wait, what?”

“They’re so… strong. Like, I bet you could carry me and my emotional baggage. And like… a whole Costco haul. At the same time.”

Azzi’s trying not to laugh, but it’s impossible now. Her shoulders shake as you grab her bicep with both hands, eyes wide with childlike wonder.

“See?? Look at this! Look at this muscle! This should be illegal.”

Azzi’s laughing, full-bodied now, biting her lip to keep it together. She flexes her arm a little just to mess with you. “You like these arms, huh?”

“LIKE THEM?” you cry, suddenly very emotional. “I worship them.”

“Oh lord,” Paige groans, covering her face but laughing so hard she’s crying. “This is the greatest day of my life.”

“Like one time you were wearing that tank top in practice,” you ramble, eyes glazing over as you remember it with awe. “And I was like… should I call a priest? ‘Cause that was a religious experience.”

Azzi leans her head back against the seat, her whole body shaking from laughter now.

“I love her so much,” you whisper suddenly, voice cracking. Your eyes go wide and glassy. “Like. So much. Like. Like more than pizza. More than... nap time. More than sweatpants. More than muffins, Azzi.”

“Oh no,” KK says, as your face starts to scrunch like a baby about to cry.

“Muffins, bro?” Paige says. “That’s real love.”

Tears are now freely rolling down your cheeks. “She’s so beautiful, you guys. And smart. And she smells good. And she always ties my shoes when I’m tired. And one time I was sad and she brought me gummy bears and kissed my forehead and it FIXED EVERYTHING.”

Azzi wraps both arms around you and pulls you into her chest, laughing even as she blinks back a few of her own tears. “Baby, it’s okay. I love you too.”

You look up at her with big watery eyes. “Do you?”

“Oh god,” Sarah whispers. “We’ve entered the Dramatic Phase.”

“I do,” Azzi says, kissing your nose. “I love you so much.”

You sniff, then smile, cheeks puffed. “Yayyy,” you slur. Then, without warning: “I want to marry your arms.”

“Not you?” Azzi teases, brushing your messy hair back.

You pause. “You can come too. But your arms are the main event.”

Paige almost pulls over to the side of the road because she can’t drive through the laughter. KK is gasping like a fish. Sarah is doubled over.

“I’m gonna make this my phone wallpaper,” Paige says, pointing at the video of you stroking Azzi’s arm like it’s a priceless artifact.

“I’m gonna make shirts that say ‘I want to marry your arms’,” Sarah adds, wiping tears from her eyes.

Azzi just hugs you tighter, beaming like the proudest girlfriend in the universe. “You’re never living this down, by the way,” she whispers in your ear.

You mumble something incoherent into her shoulder.

“What was that, babe?” she asks gently.

“…boobs.”

Azzi is dying, trying to keep her composure while you pat her arm repeatedly like you’re making a point. “You don’t understand. These arms? They cook for me. They hug me. They shoot 3s. Swish!” You raise a limp arm in the air in an awkward imitation of her jump shot, smacking the car roof lightly.

Paige is crying now, laughing so hard the car swerves slightly. “Okay, okay—no impersonations in a moving vehicle, please!”

But then, without warning, you suddenly sniffle. Your face crumples like a sad raccoon.

“I just love her so much,” you sob, nose stuffy and gauze hanging from your lip like an unhinged vampire. “She’s so… beautiful. And kind. And nice. And smart. And she helps me study when I don’t understand econ. And she remembers my coffee order. And… and her smile? Her smile?! It’s like sunshine and glitter and heaven.”

The car falls into stunned silence. You hiccup. Then:

“Also her butt is really cute.”

That does it.

Paige literally pulls into the campus lot doubled over the wheel. KK slams her hand against the dashboard, crying with laughter. Sarah is recording the entire thing from the back, breathless with giggles.

Azzi, blushing furiously, has both hands on your cheeks now. “Okay, okay, babe. Let’s get you inside, yeah?”

You cling to her like she’s your personal teddy bear. “Will you marry me?”

Azzi chuckles, kissing your forehead. “One day. When you’re not on drugs.”

You squint up at her, serious as ever. “Okay. But your arms better still look like this.”

“They will,” she promises, half-laughing, half-melting. “Just for you.”

You beam like you just won the lottery, then look over at KK. “Can you officiate?”

KK clutches her stomach. “Say less. I got ordained online last week for this exact moment.”

They help you into the dorm, you still babbling about how Azzi’s smile is “probably what inspired the concept of light,” and how you’d fight God Himself if He ever tried to take her away from you.

Azzi tucks you into bed, wipes your drool, kisses your temple, and whispers, “I love you too, my dramatic little baby.”

Paige’s Instagram: [blurry selfie of the car] "Y/N's wisdom teeth got pulled and she proposed to Azzi mid-anesthesia. She also gave a TED talk on her biceps. 10/10 entertainment."

KK’s Tiktok: [video of you poking Azzi’s arm repeatedly] “She said ‘these arms do God’s work’ and started crying 💀💀💀” Song playing: “Can’t Help Falling In Love” by Elvis

Azzi? She saved every single video. And so did you.

[kayawolfhorse]

He sticks around for a while after the disappointment of his failed trap. There’s no one left to sue him over it.

The blood is just starting to crust over where it clings to Joel’s scabbard, and it flakes upon his skin. His clothing is still filthy, but it hardly matters—the grime is of this server, and will remain with it when he leaves.

Sunset blankets the world in fiery oranges and brilliant pinks, dripping darkness like spilled ink across cliff sides and into pocket-marked craters. In its wake, without the chaos of the wild cards, in the absence of any living thing, the silence is near-deafening. Joel sighs once, loudly, just to fill the space, and does it again when he thinks about how it’d annoy Jimmy if he were still here.

The bridge to the base is remarkably intact, and the planks creak beneath Joel’s steps. He spares Gem’s empty cobbled barn a fleeting glance and reminds himself that he’ll see her soon as he marches up to his car and sets about ridding his inventory of unnecessary junk in the grass next to it.

He can practically hear Grian’s insistence that he get on with it already, but one of them is dead, and the other has a car to fix, so Joel effectively banishes the thought and pokes his tongue out in the vague direction of the sky above him.

Joel works through the night. Exploded as it had been, just about every part of the car needs repairing. The exterior comes easily enough, and it’s by torchlight that he reconstructs the engine, using up the last stores of his and Gem’s iron before raiding Etho’s waterlogged chests to finish the job.

Just before dawn is about to break, Joel slides into the driver’s seat and gives the keys a turn. The engine sputters for a moment before roaring to life. Joel grins.

It’s a bumpy ride through the center of the map, and Joel doesn’t want to talk about the times he had to rapidly construct a bridge across the rivers to get across. Once the ruined bases are confined to his rearview mirror and all that stretches before him is unmarred terrain, he floors it, giving a whoop in delight as the speedometer climbs higher and higher.

The blue shimmer of the world border overtakes the frame of the windshield. The pale morning sun has just started its ascent. Joel pushes forwards, hands tight against the wheel, teeth clenched firmly together. Thirty blocks, twenty blocks, five blocks away—

Joel slams through the border to the sound of shattering glass, and his vision goes black all at once.

—☾—

“For the record, that should not have worked,” Grian says. “And did you really have to bring that here?”

Joel’s not entirely sure where here is. Grian looks mostly corporeal, though his edges waver like the illusion of water against hot pavement, and Joel himself feels pretty solid, but all around them is vast nothingness. Pearl and Scott are bright flashes of red and blue somewhere behind Grian, and Joel can just barely make out Martyn and Scar further back.

It’s a little dizzying, honestly, and Joel quickly resolves to not look down. Despite the nausea that threatens to bubble up his throat, he makes no move to stop the smirk that spreads across his face. He gives the car’s hood at his side an affectionate pat, and is smug as he says, “Much like family, the car is forever, Grian.”

Grian buries his face in his hands.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 10 - Look And See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Going back to my roots (forced proximity)

Chapter title from Thank You by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 17k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Dean finish a case from Ruby, and it has consequences. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Read on A03!

“Can you drive any fucking slower?”

Dean shot Her a glare in the rearview mirror, trying not to get lost in how Her eyes were shining in the low light of dusk, or how all Her features seemed to be washed in the cool, pastel colors of sunset. “No, Princess, because I’m trying not to give the cops an excuse to pull us over after you blew our fucking cover-“

“I did not blow our cover,” She hissed. “I said we needed to leave now, and you decided to stick around and try to find more caviar-“

“We weren’t done, and I was hungry-“

“You’re always hungry! And we were done, you just don’t listen to me-“

“Maybe I don’t listen to you because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could almost feel Her gaze burning and twisting on his skin. “We both know that I’m the only one who knows exactly what I'm talking about-“ She paused, and Dean could see Her giving Sam an apologetic grimace in the mirror. “Sorry, Sam-“

“It’s fine.” Sam shrugs, his attention forcefully fixed on the book in his lap. Dean had a feeling Sam had entirely been tuning them out. “I mean, you’re not really wrong.”

“Don’t tell her that, Sammy, she’ll explode from her ego-“

“My ego? That’s fucking rich from you, Winchester-“

His grip began to strangle Baby’s wheel. “At least my head is in the game, sweetheart-“

“My head is in the game-“

“Didn’t look like it was,” Dean hissed. “It looked like you were more worried about flirting with that old son of a bitch rather than getting the knife-“

“It’s not a knife,” She snapped. “And I wasn’t flirting, I was looking for information, dumbass-“

“Yeah, that seemed to really pay off for you-“

“It did-“

“Dean.” Sam cut in with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You guys can keep fighting, I just want to make sure you remember-“

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m going to Norfolk, Virginia, and the black-eyed bitch will meet us there.”

“Ruby’s trying to help-“

“Well, shit load of good it’s doing, we didn’t even get the damn knife-“

“It’s not a knife.” She leaned forward, resting Her forearms on the bench, and Dean could feel the heat from Her body. It was a little dizzying, and She smelled like sugar and fruit, there was that damn fruit again-

Sammy was frowning, shaking his head. “Ruby said it was a blade-“

“And She was wrong. And I’m-“

“Right?” Dean muttered under his breath, glowering at the road. “You’re always right, aren’t you-“

“Yeah, I am.” Her words were clipped, and Dean hated how that made his heart split and howl in his chest. “And you better say thank you, because I didn’t break my nail just for-“

Dean snorted, and he hated the sound. It was louder than it should be, and toxic in his ears. He hated all of this. He didn’t know how to stop it. “How fucking tragic, her majesty broke a nail-“

“It hurt, dickwad. And,” She leaned back, only for a second, and Dean had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from reaching over the bench and pulling Her back to where he could still feel her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

Sam was frowning, twisting in his seat to look at Her, and Dean wished he could do the same. Especially as Sammy gasped, and he felt as if his jaw was going to snap and his teeth were going to grind to ash. What was She doing that made Sam gasp, why did She always have to be so awesome and insufferable and annoying and brilliant, why couldn’t Dean just know when to quit, why wouldn’t she just leave him alone to die in goddamn peace-

“When did you-“

“While Dean was drinking half the bar,” She cut Sam off with almost a sneer, and it was burning over Dean’s head. “I got the museum curator to show me the collection.”

“And that’s-“

“Yep.”

Sam swallowed, and when Dean glanced over, the kid’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. “And you’re sure-“

“I’m always sure, Samuel.” Her tone was smug, and Dean could picture the proud, pretty smirk on Her face. “And it’s not a knife. It’s an arrowhead.”

Sam reached back, Dean heard a slapping sound, and when he glanced in the mirror She was clutching something to Her chest, glaring at the front seat.

“Don’t touch it.” She snapped, and Sam blinked at Her.

“It’s just a rock,” Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a what the hell is happening look. 

Dean didn’t know. With Her, Dean never fucking knew.

“It’s not- You-“ She took a deep breath, Her voice suddenly far too soft and measured. “Just, I’m going to hold onto it, okay?”

“But-“

“Sam. Please.”

Sam frowned at Her, but nodded, and Dean scowled.

He had to bite down vile, spitting words about Her thinking she was better, about not even trusting them to hold the weapon. There was a line, and Dean refused to cross it. He couldn’t stop toeing right up to it—driven by the bitter, furious part of him that still hated how She’d lied about being sick, how She’d left him fucking dying in the hospital, how She was better and Dean couldn’t be allowed to have her—but he wouldn’t cross it. He couldn’t leave a real mark on Her. It would fully drive Her away, make her finally snap and leave him in the mud for good.

And She’d been working with them for several weeks, and Dean was still being a selfish piece of shit. 

He couldn’t fall out of Her orbit. He couldn’t bring himself to save Her from himself, from all the horror that came with being in his life, but he couldn’t hate Her enough to lie that he didn’t want Her here and mean it. He couldn’t just mean it.

Dean couldn’t sneer that She knew everything and believe it to be the truth in his bones. He couldn’t snap that She’d been flirting with that old asshole—and he knew it was the museum curator, and he knew it was for the case, and he didn’t care—and not put extra venom in his voice because She wasn’t smiling at Dean like that. She was barely smiling at Dean at all.

He didn’t blame Her. He was being a dick, but it was for Her own good. He was lying, but it was for Her.

He repeated, over and over in the dead of night, that it was for Her. For the best. And, it was but he still couldn’t quite convince himself. 

He had five months left. If he was smart, Dean would stop swallowing his crueler words and just vomit up every false reason he hated Her—She was too pretty, She did strange things to his heart and body he didn’t like not being able to control, he’d follow Her anywhere but knew she wouldn’t do the same for him—until She left, and he’d rescued Her from caring about him.

Because Dean was damned. 

But he never wanted to be damned for hurting Her. 

So he was being a fucking asshole and not crossing the line, because he wanted Her. He couldn’t stop wanting Her, he didn’t know how, it had become such a critical part of him now—to always crash down, down, down into Her and that soft, sliver light that She always cast over the pit inside of him, even when She hated him and he was supposed to hate Her—that Dean was pretty sure he’d only ever stop wanting Her when his soul was carved up and split into pieces.

Yet he still wouldn’t tell Her. He still couldn’t allow himself to look Her in her bright eyes and tell her I’m dying, Princess. I’m pretty much already dead.

Dean didn’t have a good enough memory to keep track of all the lies he was telling Her. And Sammy was barely creative enough to come up with a proper story that explained the Devil’s Gate and Azazel and Lilith while completely omitting the whole demon deal thing.

But they managed.

And She had no idea.

She believed they were hunting Lilith because that was their job. That they were researching crossroads demon because Lilith was known to work with them. That they were working with Ruby, getting this arrowhead for Her, because they needed anything at all to try and kill Lilith. 

Dean had called Bobby, and told him that, under no circumstances, could he tell Her about the deal. About Dean’s timer, and how it was slowly creeping closer and closer to zero. That they were hunting together again, and Dean wouldn’t ask Bobby why the hell he’d lied about Her being sick, as long as Bobby didn’t rat them out. 

“I won’t say anythin’ unprompted,” Bobby had grunted through the phone. “But if she asks, I ain’t gonna lie to her.”

Dean had scowled into the air, keeping a careful eye on the sidewalk through the window. She and Sammy had gone to get coffee. Dean had needed to wrap this up before they got back. “Bobby-“

“No. You know you’re my family, boy, but she’s always gonna be first.” Bobby had sighed. “Listen, I won’t tell her ‘less she catches it herself. But you know she’s far from dumb, Dean. She’ll pick up that something’s off, and there ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna save you from how pissed she’ll be that you kept it from her. At least try and give her the dignity of learnin’ it from you.”

Bobby had hung up, and Dean hadn’t told Her. He couldn’t. Bobby and Sam didn’t understand that he just fucking couldn’t. 

Couldn’t tell Her.

Couldn’t fully push Her away.

“How are you sure?” Sam was watching Her carefully, and Dean kept his eyes on the road. She was there. Right now, Her being there was all the relief he could allow himself. “I mean, I trust you, but we just need to be positive before we show this to Ruby-“

“It’s jade, and that’s what Ruby told you it would be, right?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah, but-“

“And if you trust her-“

“I do.”

Dean frowned. Sam, for some reason, did seem to trust Ruby. Dean didn’t, because She was a demon. Being trustworthy was against her freakin’ nature.

“Well, she said it would have writing on it, right-“

“Yeah, but-“

“Look.” Dean saw Her shift in the rearview mirror, and felt Her brush his arm as she leaned back forward. 

Little sparks flew through his body, and he sat a little taller, and he could see Her side-profile in his periphery and She was glowing, and there was the fruit again-

She was trying to make him crash the car.

“That’s Hebrew.” She tapped the arrowhead she spoke. “That’s Arabic, and that’s-“

“Latin.” Sam finished, and Dean rolled his eyes. Fucking nerds. “What about that one-“

She jerked Her hand back as Sam went to touch the arrowhead, and elbowed Dean in the shoulder.

He grunted, gritting his teeth as the dull pain. “Son of a bitch-“

“Shit, sorry, De-“

“Whatever.” He muttered, refusing to look Her in the eyes. She’d almost called him De. And maybe She’d been about to say Dean, but that wasn’t any better. His whole body felt like it was buzzing and heavy, and took a tight grip on the wheel to stop himself from leaning closer to Her. “Answer Sammy’s question.”

“Yeah, it’s, um-“ She swallowed. Dean could goddamn feel Her gaze. “Sorry, it’s just like, witch symbols. Probably.”

Sam’s face twisted slightly, and Dean didn’t understand that look. It was more tense than Sam’s usual, doubtful bitch-face. It was almost pained. Weary.

“Probably?” He asked, and She shrugged.

“Yeah. You’re the one who said it’s a witch artifact-“

“Ruby said it’s a witch artifact, I just passed it on. And, I dunno, can you not tell-“

“Tell what?” Her voice became clipped again, and something in the air shifted. Became heavier, more taut. 

“That it’s a witch artifact-“

“I know all the same things you do. If Ruby says it’s a witch, it’s a witch.”

Sam frowned, Her arm brushed against Dean’s again, and the taut thing was now frayed. 

Dean didn’t know what was happening. 

“Okay.” Sam broke their odd stand-off first, letting out a slow exhale. “I just wanted to-“

“Be sure.” She muttered. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a long pause—Dean forcing himself to focus on the low sound of the radio rather than how close She was, how her breathing was heavy and measured, how he wanted to follow the pattern with his heartbeat until he was moving with Her all the time—and when She leaned back, Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her small frown in the rearview mirror. 

“What did Ruby say this was for?” 

Sam shrugged, turning in his seat as he spoke. “She told me it could help kill anything inhuman or unholy. Stuff that even her knife and the Colt can’t gank.”

“The nasty sons of bitches,” Dean muttered. “Worst of the worst.”

There was another pause, and when She spoke again her voice was small. “I- anything?”

“Powerful things,” Sam explained. “Ruby said it was designed for things outside of nature. Like Lilith.”

“Like Lilith.” She repeated, and She sounded strange. Nervous.

Dean glanced back in the mirror to see Her curled into the backseat, turning the arrowhead between Her fingers with a tight frown, Her body braced in the way it always was when She started to freak out, her free hand gripping slightly at Her throat, that little wrinkle in Her brow obvious and prominent-

He couldn’t reach back and run his thumb over, no matter how much he itched to. She probably wouldn’t even let him. 

But God, the sight of Her like this made him feel sick. He hadn’t seen any real, full episodes since Her return, but he’d seen the bags under Her eyes, the raised marks on Her skin, the dried blood around Her nails.

It wasn’t his place to say anything anymore.

But it still torn him to pieces. Still made him feel like he was doing something wrong, still made Dean feel wrong. If he was good, he’d never allow something as amazing as She was to be in pain. He’d stop being selfish and set Her free of his burden, because even his proximity stole and hoarded Her light. 

But he needed Her here. Even if She couldn’t be his.

And he needed Her to stop clawing at Her throat. 

So he did the only thing he could think of, and coughed for Her attention.

Her eyes flicked to his in the rearview mirror, and they set off fireworks over his ribs. Colorful and hot and bright and Her-

“Nice work.” He muttered. “With the case. You were-“ Dean choked on the word right. Of course She was right. She was the only right thing in the universe. “You did good.”

He wouldn’t apologize. Dad said to never apologize for making the smart, right call, even if it was the tough one. Especially if it was the tough one, because that meant he was being strong, and it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure people understood that.

And what he’d said seemed to be enough. She sat a little taller, Her chin tilting a little higher, and when She spoke again Her voice was back to its usual tone. Smooth and clear and designed to haunt Dean in his sleep.

“Of course I did good.” She snapped. “I know what I’m doing, Winchester. I always do.”

Something in Her suddenly seemed to be glowing, leaking out through Her eyes on Dean’s in the mirror. 

It made Dean glow. Like he was being called further down into Her. He didn’t know how the hell She always did that to him. He’d likely never get a chance to find out. 

So all Dean did was roll his eyes and look back to road, because now he had a new lie to drill into his brain.

The lie that—if that hadn’t succeeded in returning Her to the proud, sharp, blinding woman She usually was—Dean would’ve said sorry.

That if She ever did lash at him with words that left bigger and more purposeful scars than the ones he already carried—the ones that seemed to line his every thought and breath, where he was haunted by Her when she was gone and consumed by her when she was there, and he was almost certain She didn’t even know how deep she was branding him—Dean would fall to his knees and fucking grovel for Her to heal him. For that shifting, easy light to cast over him and Her warmth to fuse him back together, better than he’d been before. For Her.

Dean would do most anything for Her.

And that meant—even if Bobby and Sam disagreed—lying to Her about the deal. 

“Dean,” Sam was shifting through his backpack as they pulled into a gas station, his attention mostly focused on trying to find a credit card that hadn’t gotten frozen. “If they don’t have pie-“

“We’re in Carolina, they’re gonna have freakin’ pie-“

Sam sighed. “Yeah, but if they don’t-“

“They will.” Dean snapped. The world was already fucking tormenting him. They didn’t need to take away his pie as well. “Pie, Sammy. Nothing else.”

“Dean-“

“Pie-“

“We’ll find you pie, you giant baby.” She rolled Her eyes from the backseat, stretching as she scooted to the door. Dean could see a little bit of bare skin from the movement.

His pants got a little tight.

He was fucking pathetic.

Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a weary look from the corner of his eyes. “We can’t control what the gas station has-“

“We’ll figure it out.” She shrugged. “C’mon, buddy. Let Deano brood in peace.”

Dean scowled, half because of Her drawling, bored use of Deano that still made him bend a little much for her, and half because he wasn’t brooding. And if he was, he should be allowed to. He was dying-

She didn’t know that. She was going to find him pie anyway. 

And he hated this.

It was the good moments that were the worst. Moments when they glanced at each other when Sam said something dramatic, and he wanted to whisper a joke, but he wasn’t allowed to anymore. Moments where they brushed past each other and didn’t flinch, where Dean would see Her early in the morning and She’d look downright adorable with that small, pouting frown. 

Moments like this one. Where She got back before Sam, passed Dean his pie without a word, and sprawled out in the backseat. And Dean could glance at Her as he filled up Baby’s tank, and She fit so naturally that he wasn’t sure how his very foundation hadn’t crumbled to nothing while She was gone.

She looked beautiful. She was wearing the jacket he’d left Her, and Dean could see the poke of the blade he’d given Her, and she was frowning at the broken nail she’d mentioned earlier, and it would be so easy to reach out and run his thumb down Her nose until she let out a soft, easy breath and everything was okay again.

“Have you met Ruby?”

Dean blinked at Her. “Yeah.”

She hummed, not looking away from Her nails. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a demonic bitch.” Dean muttered, glaring at the gas pump, and She snorted. 

“Eloquent, De.”

He felt like he was falling from a million feet. She’d really called him De again. Out of fucking nowhere, like nothing had happened, She was smiling at him and calling him De and there was something in Her that was guarded and Dean wanted to shred it down and crash right into Her-

“Why are you working with her?” She asked, tilting Her head at him. “Is it because of Sam?”

“He trusts Ruby.” Dean’s words were pushed through his teeth. “And I trust him.”

“Should I trust her?”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Gonna matter what my answer is?”

“Yeah.” She said the word like it was nothing, and Dean’s lungs stuttered and caved for a brief second, as if he’d just been shot. “I didn’t ask for shits and giggles, Winchester-“

“Then don’t.” He grunted. “Don’t trust Ruby.”

“Alright.” She shrugged. “I won’t.”

There was a pause, and Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t trying to fight with him. He didn’t understand Her, how she could be acting like nothing was wrong when it so clearly freakin’ was, when they hadn’t even dared to speak about how She’d left him and lied and obviously didn’t want anything real to do with Dean-

“Did you see Sam trying to flirt with that waitress-“

“I have to shit.” Dean blurted, refusing to meet Her eyes as he returned the gas pump to its station, because She might look sad or surprised or hurt, and he wouldn’t know how to deal with that in a way he could permit. “Watch the car.”

He walked away before She could say anything, and Jesus, he was an asshole.

She’s been trying to be nice to him. Dean didn’t know why, but She seemed to be determined to try and patch at least something between them, and it made everything so much goddamn worse. She’d sneer at him one second—when the air around them was heated and weighted in Dean’s lungs, when Dean was biting at Her and she didn’t resist his silent plea for Her to bite back—and then do something like that the next, and Dean couldn’t live with it.

He couldn’t live with himself. It might be a good thing he was damned, because otherwise he’d have no justification for how he’d just walked away, how Her trying to reach out to him just made him recoil, because nothing had ever been as good as Her, and no one had ever been less deserving of Her than Dean.

And that was why he hated the good moments the most. They reminded him that She really was better, and Dean wasn’t worthy of Her infinite… everything. They forced him to build his walls higher, to line them with further barbed wire, because if he didn’t, She’d slip through a crack without effort.

Dean couldn’t afford to let Her back in. She needed to hate him. This whole thing would be so much easier if She would just hate him. 

Maybe one day he’d walk away like that again and not glance over to check that She was still there. He had to drive Her away, but he still made sure She was still there.

And She was. She always was. Every day for the past few weeks, Dean had looked for Her and she’d been there. Legs folded in a chair as She chewed on a pencil, lying flat on Her back and humming to herself in a way that made Dean’s head a little fuzzy, standing tall as She scanned over a room and rubbed Her thumb over that scar on Her palm.

She was doing that now. Leaning over the front seats and rubbing Her palm, head slightly bowed so Her hair blocked a full view of Her face, occasionally reaching down to touch something that was on the bench. Probably Sammy’s book.

She was so pretty.

She could never be Dean’s.

Sam didn’t say anything when Dean shuffled to his side in the station, just raising his brows, glancing out the window, and letting out an unnecessarily long breath with a shake of his head.

“Wanted some coffee.” Dean muttered, grabbing a paper cup and ignoring Sam’s flat expression of disbelief. “Long drive ahead.”

“Sure, dude.” Sam was still looking out the window, an odd expression on his face. “Huh.”

“What-“

“See the Cadillac? The silver one?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze to the parking lot. “Yeah, what about it-“

“It was behind us, on the highway. For a while.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shooting Dean a tight look. “Did you seriously not notice?”

“Course I noticed.” Dean muttered, and he very much had not fucking noticed. He’d been distracted. She’d been right there whenever he used the mirror, and there had still been a little bit of lipstick stained on her mouth from the case, and he’d wanted to wipe the smudge on Her cheek off with his thumb, just to test if She’d gape at him or look at him like he mattered. Like he could matter to Her, if that was allowed. “Lotta cars in the world, Sammy, some of them are bound to be going from Carolina to Virginia-“

Dean cut himself off as the Cadillac stopped in the middle of the lot, its door opened, three large men climbed out.

They were walking towards the Impala.

He could see the sun catch light off of something in the largest one’s hand, and it was glinting and long and-

Dean was roaring Her name before he could think better of it. There was red lining his vision and a blaring, alarm-like sound in his ear, and She was in danger-

Sam was right on his tail as he burst out of the lot, sprinting back to the car—back to Her—as the men started crowding the windows, but She was faster. Right before Fuckhead Number One could bash Baby’s windows in, She pushed the door open into his gut, vaulting forward with Her knife in hand as the man let out a guttural noise of pain.

Dean slammed his body right into Fuckhead Number Two—the big, ugly one who’s knife he’d seen—right as Sam caught up to him, grabbing Fuckhead Number Three and pushing him down onto the concrete with a grunt.

They all had the same knives. Somewhere in the whirlwind of the fight—fists flying, Dean trying to reach for his gun but always fumbling as he had to dodge another punch, Sammy scrambling with Fuckhead Three on the ground as She danced around Fuckhead One—Dean realized that it wasn’t just the asshole he was fighting who had a that knife. 

It was the same one that had stabbed Her in Colorado. Same curved, sharp blade he’d seen a few times on Bobby’s desk, that had damn near killed Her-

They’d gotten separated. Somehow Sam had ended up wresting with Fuckhead Three in the grass, She and Fuckhead One were the middle of the lot with Her knife in hand, and Fuckhead Two had backed Dean up to the stations walls.

“If it ain’t the Winchesters.” Fuckhead sneered, and Dean barely managed to duck the blow aimed at his jaw. “Didn’t expect to see you here-“

“Shut up.” Dean snapped. “Unless you’re gonna say why you’re trailing us, I don’t wanna here a word out of your ugly mouth-“

Dean side-stepped another punch, and Fuckhead gave him a crude smile.

“Not trailing you.” He sneered. “Trailing what you’ve got.”

“If it’s Sammy, you can have him,” Dean slammed his knee into Fuckhead Two’s side, sending him stumbling back with a grunt. “But I’ll warn you, he snores like a bitch-“

“We have no interest in Azazel’s little experiment.” Fuckhead let out a dry chuckle, not balking as Dean finally grabbed his gun, aiming the barrel at his temple. “Our kind deal in far… bigger, older affairs.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This the part where I’m supposed to ask you what your kind are instead of just shooting you-“

Fuckhead smirked. “I’d imagine you’d like to know, Dean. Not like you can kill me anyway.”

“You wanna bet on that-“

“I’m not the betting type. To risky. And we- Well, we aren’t the kind to take risks.”

Dean was about to scoff and pull the trigger, but Fuckhead held his gaze, and his eyes shifted.

Eclipsed with a venomous, neon green for a long second, the grin on his face widening until he was laughing.

“You have no idea what you’ve begun to meddle with, Mr. Winchester-“

Dean shot Fuckhead’s foot. He didn’t need a villain rant right now, worst that would result in was a limp for the vessel, and goddamnit why couldn’t anything ever be easy-

“Sammy!” He roared across the lot. “Demons!”

Sam nodded, locking his arms around Fuckhead Three’s neck and started to chant the exorcism, and Dean sprinted forward to where She was still fighting Fuckhead One with a shout of Her name-

She was faster. She was always faster. 

Dean watched as She brought Her knife right up to Fuckhead One’s throat, hissed something in his ear, and seconds later bright green smoke erupted out of his mouth.

The same happened with Fuckhead Two and Three, and Dean frowned. He’d never seen Sam do the exorcism that fast.

He muttered Her name, fisting his hands at his side to stop himself reaching for Her. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She snapped. “Let’s go before someone calls the cops.”

She didn’t look okay. Sam rejoined them at the car—dusting the grass and dirt off his pants and looking between them with a frown—and Dean had to restrain himself with brutal reminders that She didn’t need him, because She looked the furthest thing from okay and it was eating at his gut.

She wasn’t speaking. For the rest of the drive She was lying on her back, eyes squeezed shut, body half curled into itself and arms wrapped around Her stomach. For the first time since She’d returned, she really did look sick. Colorless and pallid, lips drawn in a thin line as if she was in pain, breathing loud enough for Dean to hear over the music. Sammy kept asking damn questions about the demons, about what Fuckhead Two had said to Dean and what green eyes could possibly mean, but Dean couldn’t really hear him. 

His tongue was caught in his throat to stop him from spitting out that they needed to stop, because he was worried about Her. His chest felt like it was contracting and aching and ripping, and his heart was loud in his ears, and why was this so goddamn horrible, why couldn’t he just not care that She was in pain-

“Dean.” Sam muttered, long after the sun had set, a little while after She’d fallen asleep. “We need to tell her. About the deal.”

Dean scowled, his gaze flicking back to Her in the mirror. She seemed to be really, truly asleep. 

Dean wouldn’t bet on it.

“Not now, Sam-“

“Bobby was right, she’d going to work it out eventually-“

“No, she won’t. She’ll leave first.”

Sam gave him an odd look, glancing back to Her with a shake of his head. “Why are you so fucking convinced she’s going to leave-“

“She always leaves.“ Dean snapped. “She left at the hospital-“

“Because she was sick-“

“Does she look sick to you-“

“Yeah, she does.” Sam seemed to suddenly, somehow, be taller. “And I know she does to you too, Dean. I mean, just look at her-“

“I did.” Dean muttered, glowering at the passing white lines on the highway. “And it’s not my business. I’m not talking about this, Sammy. So fucking drop it.”

Sam sighed. “You know can convince her you don’t care about her, shit, you can even convince yourself, but you can’t convince me. If it were anyone else, you’d have shot them in Utah, and we both know it.”

“Shut up-“

“I am. Just-“ Sam said Her name, and Dean felt like he was going to vomit. “You’re not good at being right about her. You get blinded, Dean, and I think she needs us just as much as-“

“She doesn’t need us.” Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her in the backseat. 

Hauntingly beautiful in the night, the shadows and moving lights of the road making Her look even more like something that had fallen from the sky, like a piece of a star or comet that had started to breathe and walk the earth. The breeze breaking through the cracked windows blowing through Her hair and giving her cheeks a slightly flush.

Her knife was gripped tight in Her hands, and she was folded around it like it was gravity.

Dean wanted Her to fold around him like that. He wanted to be the thing that grounded Her.

But he wasn’t.

“She doesn’t need anyone, Sam.” He muttered, ripping his gaze back onto the road. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

And when Sam dropped it with a sigh, Dean made himself focus on the music. Normally, he’d turn it up to drown out his own thoughts, louder than even Sam’s chastising voice.

Tonight he kept it low, because louder meant there would be a possibility of disturbing Her. And Dean was already pretty sure She didn’t get as much sleep as she needed. 

So he’d give Her this last hour of the drive—going a little slower to extended the time—and he’d let himself look at Her a little more when she couldn’t see.

Then he’d park the car in the motel lot, mutter to Sam that he needed to work out how to get Her up without getting himself stabbed, and steel himself as he exited the car.

He couldn’t care. It would be unfair to Her for Dean to care, when he’d be gone in five months. 

Maybe, if he repeated it enough in his head, it would feel true.

Dean stopped in front of the room from Ruby’s message to Sam, and he’d barely had a chance to raise his fist to knock before the door swung open, and Ruby was glaring at him from the other side.

“Where’s Sam.”

“Hi, Dean.” He muttered, shoving past Ruby with an eye roll. “Thanks for taking time to get the thing for me, I’m going to try and not be a fucking bitch for five seconds to show my gratitude-“

“I’m not going to be grateful when you probably didn’t to shit.” Ruby crossed her arms, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s Sam.”

“I’m here,” Sam’s head poked around the door frame, a tense frown on his face. “Dean, she’s not moving-“

Dean froze at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean, she’s not moving-“

“She woke up, but she said she just wants to stay in the car-“

“She can’t stay in the car, Sammy, she has the arrowhead and we- shit, we just got jumped by demons-“

Ruby stared between them, her eyes wide. “You just got- who the hell are you talking about-“

“Oh, yeah, you guys haven’t met yet.” Sam swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I- uh- You remember how I mentioned that girl Dean used to hunt with-“

“You told Ruby about her?!” Dean hissed, and Sam shot him an apologetic look.

“Just like, once-“

“Wait,” Ruby looked between them, said Her name, and Dean was going to rip out Her tongue. The bitch shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Nothing evil should even be allowed to know about Her. “She’s here?”

“Yeah,” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course I do, you two idiots weren’t supposed to tell anyone what you were doing-“

“You don’t get to tell us what we do and don’t do,” Dean hissed, his glare turning to a very worried looking Sam. “She’s not coming out of the car?”

Sam shook his head. “No, uh-“

“I’ll take care of it.” He grunted, not looking at Ruby as he moved back to the door, clapping Sam on the shoulder with short words. “You kids keep it in your pants while I get her majesty inside.”

Dean didn’t bother to wait for Ruby to make a snide remark, just marching to the Impala and opening the back door, glaring down and where She still lay.

“C’mon, Princess, we’ve landed-“

“Don’t care.” She mumbled, twisting onto Her side and burying Her face in the seat. “I’m fine here, Dean.”

Dean jaw clenched. “Fine, just- give me the arrowhead thingy-“

“No.”

Dean grunted Her name. “You can wallow in the car all you freakin’ want, but we need that arrowhead-“

“Why.”

“The hell do you mean why, the whole point of that whole damn thing-“

“Why was it the point?” She rolled onto Her back, meeting Dean’s eyes with raised brows. “Who would want this thing?”

“Ruby wants it, and she’s going to be a real bitch if we don’t give it to her-“

“Should I give it to Her?”

Dean stared at Her, saying her name slowly. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“You told me not to trust her, Dean.” She held his gaze, and Dean felt like She looking right down into the pit. Daring him to admit something he didn’t understand. “Why should I give her the arrowhead if I shouldn’t trust her.”

It took a second for Her words to sink in. She was just watching him, a challenging expression on Her pretty face, and when it clicked, Dean had to go rigid and still to stop himself from crashing down into Her pouting, drawn lips.

She was taking him seriously. She was taking Dean—Dean, of all damn people—and his opinion and trust of Ruby, seriously. She wasn’t trusting Ruby because he told Her not to, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in Her voice. It had been flat, pointed, filled with that same dry tone She’d used when she’d asked Dean a rhetorical question about a hunt or a monster She’d already known everything about. The voice She used when she was half quizzing him, but She’d also been in charge of designing all the answers.

He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t sit in how it made him stand a little taller, how Her gaze on his was almost certainly looking all the way into him, how She was seeing into every piece and sunken hollow in Dean’s body and not moving away.

Why the hell couldn’t She just move away.

He couldn’t have this. He couldn’t have Her. Dean needed to keep moving, and Her looking at him like that—like She could see him, like he was real, like She wanted to fall up into him just as bad as he wanted to tumble down to Her—made him want to stay in this parking lot for the entirety of his remaining months. 

“We still gotta work with the bitch,” Dean said Her name, forcing his gaze to remain on Her’s, all while trying to remember how he’d ever managed to convince Her to do anything. “She’s our best line to Lilith-“

“That can’t be true.” 

Dean blinked at Her. “You got a better idea?”

“No. But I could find one.”

“You planning to find it in the car?”

She scowled. “Shut up-“

“Look, you-“ Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “You don’t need to give it to Ruby. But you need to come inside.”

Her eyes narrowed, Her mouth opening to probably say something harsh and firm along the lines of shove it up your ass, Winchester, you don’t tell me what to do, but Dean pushed on before She could. 

“Please?” He watched Her carefully, trying not to get lost in how She was blinking at him, how he could move just a few inches and brush the hair off Her face, trace his fingers over her parted lips. “Can’t just leave you alone in the car at 3am. You never know when more demons might jump out of the bushes, sweetheart.”

“It’s three in the-“ She cut Herself off with a yawn, and God, she could be real damn cute when She wasn’t glaring at him. 

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean nodded to the motel room, hoping She was too tired to hear the affection in his voice. “Let’s go.”

When She pushed herself to her feet, Dean’s hand almost shot out to rest on Her lower back and guide her inside.

He regained control of his body at the last second, and flinched back. He was falling again. Further and further every time, because he always thought he’d reached the deepest part of this strange pull to Her, and he was always wrong. 

She didn’t see it. Didn’t see how he recoiled from Her body. Shit, Dean hoped She hadn’t seen it. That might be the line crossed—might be something She took as Dean hating her, when he couldn’t, he didn’t know how—and Dean didn’t want to lose Her. He would. He’d have to.

But not now.

Not when She was listening to him. Not when he could feel something start to bloom to the right of his heart, because She was trusting him. Against all odds and logic and reason, She was trusting Dean. He didn’t understand it. He never did. But this was good, and it would all be gone soon regardless, and Dean can’t be allowed to have something so good just to break it, but he also couldn’t live with himself if he shattered Her without having her at all.

His head was spinning around that idea. How could She still trust Dean, he was Dean, he was damned and selfish and mean to Her, but she still trusted him-

He almost missed the chorus of shouts that broke through the motel room. 

She flying at Ruby, knife in hand and eyes slightly crazed, blocked only by Sam jumping in Her path and holding Her back as Ruby scrambled away.

“What the fuck-“

“Let go of me!” She was screaming, thrashing in Sam’s hold and watching Ruby with a slightly crazed expression. “Sam- Fucking let go- I- I can’t-“

Sam said Her name, his voice in the calming tone he used on the vics. “That’s just Ruby, she’s an ally-“

“Just an ally?” Ruby shot him a glare. “Ouch, Sammy, I thought we were friends-“

“I- Maybe wait until after I calm her down to start yelling at me-“ Sam cut himself off with a groan as She elbowed him in the gut, but didn’t waver his hold. “Fuck-“

“Let- Sam, let me go- I need to- fuck- Dean!” She screamed for him, and whatever daze Dean had been shocked into was destroyed by the sound of it. “Dean, it’s a- Dean-“

“Fucking hell,” Ruby shook her head slightly, her back still pressed to the wall, her body a little more rigid than Dean had seen it before. “She’s a dramatic one, isn’t she-“

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean snapped, giving Ruby a firm, harsh, don’t fucking test me, bitch, glower before taking Her face between his hands, lowering his voice until only She could really hear it. “You need to calm down, Princess-“

She shook Her head, hair sliding over Her brow, and Dean had a striking realization that this was the closest he’d been to Her in over two years. 

“Dean, she’s- If- It’s wrong- Something’s wrong-“

“Ruby’s a demon,” he said Her name carefully, scanning over Her open features. “You knew that-“

“I- I’m not-“ She shook Her head, Her voice more panicked by the second. “It’s wrong, Dean, something’s wrong-“

“I know. Just, son of a bitch-“

He gave in. Dean let his control slip just a little, gave into his every deeply rooted and natural instinct, and ran his thumb down Her nose.

The effect was almost immediate. Her eyes closed slowly, the tension leaving Her expression and body as she half-slumped into him, and this was everything Dean had been trying to avoid, but he also couldn’t ignore how his own bones felt lighter in his body, how the world felt bigger—in a relieving, colorful and bright way that made Dean’s head not feel like a weight on his neck—because She wasn’t freaking out.

He moved Her to the bed without a word, letting Her lie flat on her back and curling his fingers to stop himself from falling further—from tracing Her cheekbones and tucking Her hair behind her ears—and only managed to remember they weren’t alone in the whole universe because Ruby coughed behind him.

“What the hell was that-“

“She must have, uh-“ Sam swallowed, glancing to Her on the bed as he said Her name. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She muttered, eyes still closed as She twisted a ring on her finger. “Forgot she was a demon. Sorry.”

Lie.

That was a lie.

Dean frowned at Her, keeping his voice level and casual. “How’d you manage to remember-“

“I must have flashed my eyes.” Ruby jumped in, and she hadn’t moved from her spot on the wall. “Happens sometimes.”

Sam shot Dean a confused, slightly questions look, and Dean gave a small shake of his head. 

“I’ve never seen you do that shit by accident, Ruby-“

“Well you don’t look at me, Dean, so kindly stop being an ass and have your girlfriend hand over the arrowhead.”

Dean scowled, but couldn’t bring himself to properly protest the girlfriend thing. Not when his brain was still in a scratching loop of Her face so close, Her warm cheeks under his hands, the intoxicating smell of that goddamn fruit dragging him higher and higher-

“No.” She muttered from the bed, and when Her eyes opened they found Dean’s so fast he’d have thought he was a magnet. “It’s staying with me.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she pushed off the wall, Dean body moved a slight inch to the side—just enough to stop Ruby if she tried something on his- his whatever She was—and Sam sighed.

“Oh, shit.”

“What do you mean, no?” Ruby sneered, taking a slow step forward. “I sent you to get it for me, you can’t just keep it-“

“You ever heard of finders keepers?” Her voice was bored, and whatever panic Ruby’s black eyes had sparked in Her seemed to have vanished entirely. “This is that.”

Ruby scoffed. “That doesn’t work here, you spoiled brat-“

Something hot filled Her eyes, and Dean felt like something was rotting in his chest. 

“That’s rude.” She cut Ruby off with a shrug, nothing in Her tone shifting, but Her eyes remained different. Dean wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed. “And I’m sorry, but I’ve never been good at being peer pressured. Try again later.”

“Later? Are you-“ Ruby whipped around to snap at Sammy. “Make her give me my arrowhead.”

“I- uh-“ Sam glanced to Dean, his face filled with worry. “I’m not-“

“Shut it, Ruby.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s whole body seemed to slump with relief. “If her majesty says no arrowhead, you don’t get an arrowhead.”

Ruby glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me-“

“I dunno,” Dean looked to Her with raised brows, and he could’ve sworn he saw Her mouth tug slightly upwards. “You kidding, sweetheart?”

“Not really, no.”

“Alright.” He shrugged, turning back to Ruby with a shrug. “You heard the lady. No arrowhead.”

Ruby’s jaw twitched. “This is stupid, I mean, even for you, Dean-“

“It’s not stupid.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean glanced over to find Ruby on the end of one of Her coldest, most threatening glares. “I’m holding onto it. No one else.”

“You could try and take it from her,” Dean suggested, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll warn you, she plays it real fast and loose with that knife.”

There was a long, silent stand-off—Sammy shifting on his feet in the background, looking around the group like he was trying to work out which bomb in a pile would go off first—and Ruby caved first.

“Fine.” Ruby sighed, shooting Her a glare. “Be a fucking child. In the meantime, we need to go back to how Sam said you three got jumped by demons.”

“Jumped is a strong word,” She muttered, arms wrapping around Her stomach. “More like snuck up on-“

“This isn’t a joke.” Ruby snapped. “If demons are following you, it’s because of the arrowhead, which means more will be coming if we don’t do something about it.”

She sat up on the bed, an odd and unreadable expression on Her face, but before Dean could ask what the hell it was for, Sam was talking.

“They were- uh-“ He looked to Dean and Her, his voice filled with slight nerves. “They were green? The demons-“

“Green?” Ruby stared at Sam, the almost frightened look returning to her face. “Sam, what the hell do you mean they were green-“

“He means they were green, genius.” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “Green smoke, green eyes. Green-“

“Demons.” Ruby was shaking her head, the movement almost frantic. “For- God, for fuck’s sake, can you two not making anything easy-“

“Do you know what they are?” She was fully sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Her palm with a thumb as Her attention fixed on Ruby. “The green demons, have you heard of them-“

Ruby let out a dry laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of them. They, shit, they’re like nightmares. In hell we use them to scare little baby demons into brushing their fucking teeth-“

Dean frowned. “Hold up, you’ve got baby demons-“

“Obviously not, dumbass, I’m just trying to drive home how fucked we are-“

She took a long breath, pushed off the bed, and Dean was worried he was going insane. He thought he saw Ruby fucking flinch at Her movement.

“Ruby.” She said, and that was the tone She used on a hunt. When She wasn’t looking for anyone to argue with Her, and wasn’t going to give way for the opportunity. “What are the green demons.”

“Hell’s Assassins.” Ruby said, her words pushed through teeth. “They do things that are above every other demon’s pay grade, usually staying in the shadows and only showing themselves when there’s no other option. If they’re out now, that means, shit-“

“We’re screwed.” Sammy muttered, and Ruby nodded.

“Royally fucked. Our best bet is throwing them off the trail.” Ruby sighed, started to ramble about how if they could convince the green-eyed douchebags that they’d taken the arrowhead somewhere else and dropped it, maybe they could buy enough time to figure out how to avoid them once they worked out it had been a trick, but Dean wasn’t listening.

He was looking at Her. 

And She looked horrible.

Drop dead gorgeous—just as She always was—but horrible. Sick. She looked truly, awfully, deeply sick again. Sunken and afraid and small, curled into Herself and eye screwed tight, and this was worse than any of the fear because Dean felt like he needed to do something, but he wasn’t a healer, he’d break Her further and She’d leave for good once more, and it would kill him. He was an asshole, and if She walked away now—right as he was starting to see parts of him that had been hollow and cracked fuse back together, brighter and stronger than before—it would kill Dean before the contract even got the chance to catch up with him.

But Her obvious pain was clawing at Dean’s throat and burning over his skin, he needed to fix it, needed to make things better for Her, everything had to be better for Her-

“I’ll take Sam, then.” Ruby’s words cut through his thoughts, and Dean turned with a scowl.

“Take Sam where-“

“To drive off the demons, you meat-headed idiot-“

“Shut up.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean wasn’t imagining it. Ruby flinched. The bitch was actually fucking afraid of Her.

Which was understandable. 

She could be scary. 

And right now, with Her furiously beautiful features and firm glare, She was downright terrifying.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” She muttered. “And you’re not just taking Sam-“

“I’m- I think it’s a good plan.” Sam scratched his neck, shooting Her an apologetic look. “I mean, she’s right, Ruby. Talk to Dean like that again and I won’t hold her back when she tries to carve your eyes out, but I’ll go with you. For the team.”

The team. They were a team. And She and Sam were standing up for him, and cared about him enough to maul Ruby or put up with her for an extended amount of time, and this exactly what Dean was afraid of-

“You two will have to go on lockdown,” Ruby snapped, and Dean didn’t miss how she was standing a little too tall. Too guarded. “Buddy system to get food, doors shut day and night, no one in or out that’s not me or Sammy-“

Sam frowned. “Don’t call me that. Or I’m not driving these demons off with you.”

“Well, Sammy, you don’t really have a choice. Just like Elizabeth and Darcy,” Ruby turned her smirk of Her and Dean. “Are going to have to hole up here. Together. Just them, all week.”

“All-“ She swallowed, and something stung at Dean’s heart at the expression on Her face. “Can’t we just go to Bobby’s-“

“In Dakota?” Ruby laughed. “We don’t have time for that. Besides, we’re taking the car-“

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you’re taking my car-““Don’t worry, Sammy will drive. Ready?” 

Sam blinked. “I- are we leaving now-“

“Like I said, we don’t have time. Those things- They’re a bigger threat than Lilith. So unless you’re going to hand over the arrowhead-“

“Not a chance.” Her chin raised slightly, and Dean couldn’t stop a smirk at the sour expression on Ruby’s face.

“Fine. Have fun on lockdown.”

Everything moved in a flash. Ruby and Sam got stopped at the door as She moved in front of it—Dean didn’t know how She was suddenly back to her usual, sharp and quick self, but he did know that Ruby froze at the sight of Her in their path—and She demanded the full, detailed plan. Ruby and Sam were going to draw the green-eyed demons away by fucking off to Oklahoma, She and Dean were going to stay here and keep the arrowhead safe, and once they were in the clear Sam and Ruby would come back. 

And before Dean could find the proper words to express how he was so fatally close to completely giving back into Her, to moving fully back into Her orbit and doing everything he’d sworn he wouldn’t—forgiving Her again, being whatever She needed him to be, trying to hold Her when he’d really be nothing more than literal dirt and blood by the end of the year—Sam and Ruby were gone.

Dean was alone again.

But this was worse.

Because he was alone with Her.

And it didn’t matter what Ruby claimed. 

That was a bigger threat than Lilith.

————

This is going to kill you. 

You should’ve protested more. Insisted that you and Dean didn’t need to go on lockdown together, that there had to be other options.

You couldn’t think of other options, but there had to be some. 

Dean wouldn’t have let you stay alone. You had to stay with the arrowhead. There was no world where you’d let Dean go off with Ruby. You didn’t even love Sam going off with Ruby, and she’d only been insulting him while casting a broader net for Dean. 

Nobody should go with Ruby. But you had a feeling she wouldn’t have allowed that, just as you wouldn’t have allowed her to take Dean. 

And you’re certain she’s not your biggest fan either, given how she flinched at the sight of you, even before you tried to kill her.

You’d almost let the Darkness slip there. If Sam hadn’t held you back, you would’ve let it rush out and stomp Ruby down to nothing, because you’d never seen a demon that hideous. They all had horrid, twisted and marred faces, shifting and moving in the smoke, but Ruby had been awful. Glinting and rolling and stained along her vessel like a disease.

And maybe she was just an ugly bitch.

But maybe you’d have to keep an eye on her. She’d wormed her way into Sam and Dean’s life like a parasite, and you now had to ensure they came out the other side with all their organs intact.

And that’s not your job. Not your place.

But you’re going to do it anyway. 

You have to repay them somehow. For putting up with this. For putting up with you, and the danger you brought just by daring to try and breathe in their proximity. 

In Dean’s proximity.

You can’t stop drawing closer and closer to Dean.

And you know he hates you. He has every right to, even if you don’t know why. You have a theory it starts and ends with John, and how you never said goodbye, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ll spend your time with him trying to keep yourself on a leash, and pretending you’re not already addicted to his voice and smell and face once more. 

You’d never truly been clean of him. You’d never stopped dreaming of him, never stopped wanting him, and the White had never hesitated to whine and buck and scream for you to turn around and return to where you should be. 

Wherever Dean was.

But one month back, he hates you, and you’ve never needed him more. Because he makes it easier. The pain is harsher and sharper when it comes—on worse cases and when you don’t sleep for long nights that never seem to end, until color breaks the horizon and Dean is at your side once more—but every waking moment doesn’t feel vile. Sometimes you breathe and it’s not poison in your lungs. Your heart beats and it’s a steady time that isn’t shredding itself apart. Dean brushes past you in the hall, or meets your eyes in the Impala’s mirror, and snaps your name like he cares about, and everything turns silver.

So you can’t stop trying to fix it. Dean so plainly loathes you, but then he’ll smirk at you, or laugh at a joke, or pull you away from danger, and you’ll fall further into himo. It fuels you. To patch this vast crack between you with whatever you can find, scavenging for thread that isn’t frayed in heated moments—when he cares, or when he’s furious—that fuse this back together a little more.

And God, it’s so unhealthy. How you’re scrambling to fix something you’d never had a right to break in the first place, especially when Dean doesn’t even care to see it fixed himself. When, even if you manage to salvage this, it will crumble once more when the Darkness gets a full hold of you, and everything crashes down. 

But knowing that had never stopped you.

And it’s Dean. And he’s magnetic and strong and still somehow the only certain thing in the universe. You’re drowning in him every second, and the whole world has become sharp and stained in gold because he’s right there and you could touch him if you tried, so you can’t just give up. He’ll snap and you’ll snap back, but you won’t leave. 

You can’t leave.

When Dean’s finally here, you don’t think you could pull fully away if you tried.

Now would be the time to learn. When you know that the demons hunting you are Hell’s fucking assassins, and they’re here for you. You’ll let Sam and Dean believe it’s the arrowhead—and you have a sense that Ruby is already aware it’s not—but it’s you. They’d been there for you, and the Darkness had started to seep out no matter how you chewed your tongue red or dug your nails to your skin, and nobody was safe with you but you still couldn’t leave.

Not when you’re locked down.

With Dean.

You won’t let him touch the arrowhead. You’d caught him, the first day, trying to shift through your jacket and pull it out while you’d been taking a shower. You’d cleared your throat, your arms crossed over your chest, and he’d turned with a wide-eyed, guilty expression. 

“I- uh-“

“It’s not nice to snoop, Winchester.” You’d said, giving him a pointed look. “And it’s not there anyway.”

He’d blinked at you, but recovered quickly. Charming, boy-ish grin returning, expression a picture of mock innocence, so painfully unaware of how the White in your chest was begging you to close the space and just hold him-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart, I was just looking for something. Is a guy not allowed to look for things anymore?”

You’d raised your brows at him. “What were you looking for?”

“Gun.”

“In my jacket?”

He’d paused at that. “Thought it was my jacket.”

“I didn’t know you wore women’s jackets, Deano.” You’d taken at step back into the bathroom, reaching for your spare towel as you continued. “You are not a good liar.”

He’d scowled. “I’m a freakin’ fantastic liar-“

You’d hummed, shooting him a look of amusement. “Sure.”

“I’m better than you are.” He’d snapped. “I always have you figured out, Princess. And I’m lying right fucking now.”

It had been hard not to wince at that one. Dean was better than you were. Everyone was.

And he could be lying, and you don’t even know about what, but he could be. And you’d deserve it. Whether it’s a punishment or just another way for Dean to hate you, you’d deserve it for making everything so much worse.

So you’d sighed, grabbed the arrowhead from folded towel, and held it up for him to see.

“Just- don’t try and take this. Don’t touch it.” You held Dean’s gaze, and there had been something hot inside of it. Something that seemed more turned on him than aimed at you.

It still hurt.

“Please.” You’d added, just because he really couldn’t touch it. “Dean, I need you to say-“

“I won’t touch it,” he’d grunted. “Bossy.”

And the White had relaxed. A little less danger for Dean to be in. 

Another thing to take and let ignite you from within. To grab onto and cast around your body, until those fractured pieces could grow a little further back together, and the world could be a little more colorful.

Days later, you’re still keeping the arrowhead under your pillow. Dean hasn’t tried to take it, but there’s no other place for it to be.

It has to stay with you.

Because whatever Ruby thinks it is, she’s wrong.

There had been a brief moment of terror, when Sam had said made to kill powerful things, but then you’d looked at it and you’d known that wasn’t the truth. The weight over your chest and pressing on your lungs had been relieved, but only for a second. 

Then you’d looked closer, and it was something far worse.

There were four languages carved into the jade, and one of them was shifting and strange the same way your thoughts always did when you created a ritual, the same way the words women of the high always moved on the paper. You’d told Sam it was simply witch symbols, and it hadn’t been a full lie. They were symbols, just as all letters were. And they were likely carved by a witch.

But they were likely more. 

Because this thing was powerful. 

And it fed the Darkness more than anything you’d seen before.

Everything was louder and bigger and sharper when you held it in your hands. Even Dean’s presences didn’t fully soften the sheer vastness of everything when the arrowhead was in your hands. The world was still silver, but it wasn’t blurred. It was harsh and bright and violent inside of you, barely contained and pressing up under your skin to be freed.

And then there was Dean. How when you hold the arrowhead, he’s not just leaving stains. 

He’s branded into you. 

It’s visible. You can feel it. You can fucking taste him, lingering in the back of your throat despite never having been that close to him before. He’s embedded in your chest and marked all over you in places that he hasn’t touched in years. There’s something faint golden painted all over your body—tangled in your hair and glowing in your guts—and it spurs all those fractured pieces into an overwhelming frenzy. They grasp onto every bit of light the gold provides and toss it all over your body until even the Darkness feels like it’s blended into the White and everything is all just silver.

But then you drop the arrowhead, your hand growing weak from just how fucking much everything is, and it all becomes numbed pain and shifting gold on the couch and Dean’s bed.

So whatever the arrowhead is, Ruby can’t have it. And Dean can’t know what it is, or why you keep staring at him with a tight frown when you hold it, watching his… everything. How he’s like a walking, breathing pillar of gold.

“Take a picture, Princess.” He mutters from the table, his attention on the laptop Sam had left you. “It’ll last longer.”

You scowl, shoving the arrowhead back under your pillow. “Shut up.”

He does.

You don’t think it’s because you told him to.

About three days of your lockdown have passed. Dean’s barely speaking to you.

It’s eating you alive.

Every day has been the same. You exist in Dean’s gravity, and he doesn’t even know you can’t pull away, and time passes in barely a crawl. You watch the tiny box TV and flip through the motel’s provided magazines and your own books, while Dean drinks and hunches over Sam’s laptop.

Half your trash is beer bottles, and you haven’t even had one. You still don’t drink—now doesn’t really feel like the time to start—and Dean probably remembers that, but it still worries you. You know he’s had a rough two years, that he had to watch John die, and Sam almost die, and fight Azazel, and deal with the Devil’s Gate, but this seems worse. Dean drank before.

He didn’t quite drink like this. 

And he still won’t really look at you. 

The most you get from him is grunts about food, strange looks that end the moment you catch his eyes on yours, and muttered words about how Sam sent a message, and he and Ruby are still alive.

It’s moves the Darkness to an edge. Everything is still silver, but the Darkness is still a part of that, and it’s volatile. Hateful and wrathful. Cracking over your ribs and rotten on your tongue, and at night—when Dean snores in his bed and you stare at the ceiling with your knife in hand—you feel so fucking sick once more.

And this is another one of those nights. The day had been the same as all the others, and Dean’s fast asleep across the room, and you allow yourself to look at him.

He’s still so pretty. There are a few more lines on his face and a slightly heavier expression on his face, but he’s still Dean. Still the best thing you’ve ever seen, and the only one that had ever managed to make you falter. To sit down and want to stay there, to have that strong, unexplainable pull that makes you watch him in the dark like a creep, that drags you down, down, down when he’s only existing near you.

It’s just as terrifying as it’s always been. How Dean is just more. How he was like a phantom behind you in the years apart, and how he’s all the world in front of you. How there had been moments—while you’d been apart with no belief you’d ever fall back into him again, when you’d skipped every town you set foot in and never allowed yourself to stop moving—where someone at a bar had smirked at you and asked for your name, and you’d given it, and when they’d repeated it with a drawl and heated promise in their eyes, all you’d been able to think was not Dean.

And he’s right there. In the dark.

And you’re not running.

But you are growing sicker. Watching him makes the White rear its head, and that sparks the Darkness, and Dean has always been able to set you off more than anyone else, and he’s just lying there and looking like everything you could ever need, and you’re losing control.

You push out of your bed—holding your breath and taking light steps on the creaking floor—and move to the bathroom. 

You can’t use your usual methods. Dean would wake from the sound or notice the blood in the morning, and you don’t need that right now. So you take the second-best choice and turn the sink on, letting the hot water flow until steam is rising from it, and run your hands under it.

Your skin feels like it’s raw and peeling. It fucking hurts, and you might not be able to really turn a page in the morning without wincing. 

But the Darkness sinks back down.

So it works.

You bow your head, eyes squeezed shut, and push on. You need the Darkness to go be tamed, to go so deep into your body that you’ll be able to go at least the whole day with no fear of losing it, with no fear of hurting-

“You shouldn’t do that.”

When your eyes shoot open, he’s right there. Dean’s frowning at you from the door, supporting himself with one hand on the frame and rubbing his eyes as he speaks.

“’S not good for you.”

“Yeah, well,” you narrow your eyes at him, furious at yourself for not locking the door, furious at him for thinking he has any right to tell you what to do. He doesn’t know you’d follow him anywhere, and trust him with your soul in his hands. As far as Dean’s concerned, you’re nothing, so he doesn’t get to tell you what to do. “You shouldn’t drink.”

He blinks at you. “What.”

“Half the motel room is beer bottles.” You snap. “And if you’re allowed to do that, I’m allowed to do this.”

“You-“ Dean jaw twitches, his eyes darting to your hands, still pressed until the steaming water. “There’s no fucking reason for you to be doing that shit-“

“Is there a reason for you to drink?”

He scowls. “That’s different, Princess-“

“Is it?” You hum, looking back to your hands. They hurt. You won’t pull them away. “How?”

“That’s not your business- It just fuckin’ is-“

“So this isn’t yours.” You shrug, letting out a long, slow breath. “Go back to bed, Dean.”

There’s a long moment where you can still see him in the doorway. You think he’s going to argue, or push you, or keep trying to convince you to step back from the sink. 

But the floorboards creak, and he’s gone. You follow him, a handful of minutes later.

Neither of you mention it in the morning. 

“We need to get more food,” Dean mutters that afternoon. “But Sammy took my fucking car-“

“There’s the shop down the street we used last time.” You don’t look up from your book, because if you do, you’ll meet Dean’s eyes and fall a little further. “It’s like, a five-minute walk.”

“I don’t wanna use that place, they didn’t have bacon-“

“They were out of bacon. Three days ago.” You sigh, glaring at the words on your page. You’ve read them ten times before, and you’re getting bored, but Dean will only talk to you about necessity so repetition is your only option. “I’m sure they’ve restocked.”

Dean mutters something under his breath you can’t hear, and don’t really want to. 

But you’re right. When you’ve dressed and walked down to the tiny, acceptably useful grocery store—Dean one pace behind you, your body leaning slightly back as if it can’t help but try to be a little closer to him where it’s allowed—they’ve restocked on bacon.

“I’ve got a list of what we need,” you’re trying to ignore how he’s shifting at your side, like he can’t wait to move away. You wish you could blame him. “Find whatever else you want, and try not to go overboard.”

“You can’t go overboard on food, Princess.” Dean’s words are casual. Easy. Your heart skips and beat then freezes in your chest. “You try not to get lost.”

You glare up at him. “I am not going to get lost, asshole-“

He’s already walking away.

It takes all your willpower not to chase after him. 

The grocery store really is small, and you don’t need much. One of the—countless—amazing things about Dean is how he’s a man of habit. Even after two years apart, you can still predict him like he’s the moon in the sky. Beer, jerky, the bacon he was so whiny about, a few pre-made pies. A lot of butter and meatballs because you refuse to not take advantage of having a real, small kitchen for the first time in years, and Dean will be eating with you whether the asshole likes it or not.

And you don’t know where he’s wandered off to at first, but you realize quickly it’s not as far as you thought. 

Because you glance over your shoulder at the exact right time, and Dean’s there. Half hidden behind a shelf, glaring at a bag of vegetable broth that is so obviously a cover, you almost laugh.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

You’re too starved and desperate for his proximity—how easily everything is bright and silver in your body—to confront him. 

So the rest of the grocery trip passes exactly like that.

You wander the isles to cross every item off your list. Dean stays several, poorly hidden paces behind you like some kind of oddly trained guard dog. You indulge him and pretend he’s being stealthy, when in reality he’s just a massive man very obviously following you around in a grocery store. 

At one point you catch his eye and raise your brows—because you just can’t fucking help it—and you could swear he blushes before he looks away.

This is so strange. He’s barely looked at you all week, and suddenly he’s doing this.

You wish you could bring yourself to care about that a little more.

Around the canned goods isle—chicken soup because it’s easy—a woman approaches Dean. She’s not a demon, just a pretty human with soft eyes that are fixed on your—not your—Dean, but you still feel something stabbing and biting in your gut when he even looks at her.

It’s pathetic. You have no claim there, no valid reason to want to march over and link your arm through Dean’s like you used to, to suddenly wish he’d just fucking stop the whole act and come stand at your side, but that doesn’t stop the feeling

Or the way the whole world—in and out of your body—sings when Dean dismissed the woman barely a chance. When he glances at her, shrugs off her overly sweet words, and doesn’t shift at her fluttering lashes. When she shuffles off with slumped shoulders, and Dean keeps up his stupid little charade of trailing you through the store.

He probably was just being cautious. You’re both a little wired and vigilant given the whole situation. 

But those featured pieces still bloom and grow along your body. And you can’t bring yourself to be bitter about it.

Neither of you mention anything when you meet back at the checkout isle. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets with a short nod and grunt of done, stays his usual one step behind you, and pretends nothing odd happened at all.

“I got you one case of beer,” you say as you approach the front of the line. “If you want more, I’d go get it now-“

“One is fine.” He leans slightly forward, and you can feel the heat from his body, and he smells like grass and spice- “Where the hell is my bacon.”

You turn to glare at him, and fuck, that’s a mistake. He’s very close, and you can see the slight crook of his nose and how full his lips are, and if you moved your hand up a little you could trace along his jaw-

“Did you forget my fucking bacon-“

You pull yourself together, and give him a flat look. “Such little faith, Deano-“

“I’m not seein’ it-“

You shift around the basket, pushing items aside as you take a step forward, revealing the three packs of bacon and placing them on the checkout belt. 

“It was the first thing I got,” you shrug, moving the rest of the food out of the basket. “Add whatever you grabbed to the belt.”

He hadn’t grabbed anything. You were pretty fucking certain Dean hadn’t actually gotten anything, because he’d spent the whole time following you. The only reason he missed the bacon was because you’d gotten it first, and he’d been-

Getting something. Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few candy bars and fruits, dropping them onto the belt without a glance in your direction.

“What-“

“They’re for you.” He mutters. He’s still not looking at you. “You never freakin’ remember to get yourself something.”

You blink at him, and nod slowly. 

He got you things. He’d followed you through the grocery store and got you things, but he still won’t look at you. He’ll barely speak to you.

Another day passes, and Dean won’t just look at you.

You’re not sleeping. And that’s no different than normal, but this feels worse. When it had been you and Jo—before your party got crashed—Jo had agreed to do shifts. She’d known what was happening, known that there was no world where you’d sleep easy, especially not with another person in the room, and she’d talked you into rotating schedules. 

It had worked.

And in the past month with Sam and Dean, you’d had your own room. If demons burst through the door, you’d be the only target. 

But now you’re putting Dean in danger. 

So you don’t sleep. You keep yourself functional with quick naps in the middle of the day—when Dean’s awake and not looking at you—but you can feel cracks starting to form over your head. Somethings set to snap. 

You’re going to break. 

You can feel it coming, like a storm moving in and pressure shifting in the air. 

Your only hope is to hold it down. You try to hold it down. The hot water is running out faster, and the skin around your nail is raw and bloody, and Dean still won’t look at you-

And your guard slips.

When they arrive, you’re not ready. 

Your head is a little fogged. You’d left your knife on your bed, in your jacket from when you’d gone to the motel lobby for more toilet paper. Your back is to the door because the sun is too bright, and it’s giving you a headache. You’re curled on the couch because everything hurts, and Dean’s still in the lobby grabbing ice and you wish he’d just finish the fuck up, because you need him close but you’re never allow to say that- 

You’re too tired to think anything of the first bang on the door. It’s likely just housekeeping, even though you’d put the do not disturb sign up, and carried the toilet paper back yourself.

The second bang makes you frown, and you can’t see anyone outside.

Third bang. Your voice is dripping with exhaustion when you raise it, trying not to flinch at the fourth bang. 

“Sorry, we have do not disturb-“

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’.” A drawling, almost honeyed voice drawls from the other side of the door, and your blood runs cold. “And I can promise this ain’t gonna be disturbin’ if you make it easy.”

You try to launch to the bed, to grab your knife, but the door crashes open before your jelly-like body can even get off the bed.

You manage to scramble to the edge of the mattress, grabbing the arrowhead and shoving it into your jeans, but you’re barely turning before the violent, rioting and furious green grabs you by the throat and yanks you up-

Instinct kicks in, and you ram your knee into the vessels gut. It’s enough for the grip to falter, enough for you to pry his grip off your neck with shaking finger and scramble back, but there are three more and one grabbing your arms and the second has it’s knife aimed right into your chest-

“Dean!” It’s the only thing you can think to say. Scream. Pray. “Dean, I- Dean!”

You hear a gunshot go off, and a choked sound leaves your throat, but no abnormal pain comes.

The demon behind you slumps, you got right down with its weight, and the one with the knife stumbles right over your head.

You’re still too tired to fight properly. But you’re not useless. You slam your body into the knifed demon’s legs, and roll away as he topples down. 

Then you look up, see Dean’s jaw clenched as he wrestles with the fourth demon, and demon you’d kneed earlier is coming up right behind him with the knife-

It wouldn’t have killed you. If the demon on the floor had gotten you, you’d have screamed and shattered but lived. 

You don’t think Dean will live.

And the rush kicks in.

You launch yourself at the demon that’s behind Dean, wrapping your arms around it’s neck and squeezing with all the strength in your body.

Dean turns with wide eyes and a roar of your name, and you rear all your body weight forward. Slamming your demon into the one that Dean’s had been fighting, because the dumbass hadn’t knocked him down and he’d been barreling at Dean like a tank. 

You jump off right in time, and Dean catches you. Steadying you on your feet and scanning over your face like he’s looking for something, opening his mouth to say something but shutting it closed when the still conscious demon on the floor start to stumble upwards.

Dean shoves you behind him and draws his gun once more, the shot echoing around the motel room as you dunk under his arm and run to the bed-

Dean shouts your name, and you can feel his gaze searing into your skull. “What the fuck are you-“

You grab your knife—jumping up on the bed and spinning it in your hand—and launch forward, grabbing Dean’s head and shoving it down as you land on the first demon’s shoulder’s driving your knife right into its chest. 

These vessels weren’t going to live. You hadn’t bothered to tell Sam and Dean at the gas station—it was already a shit day, and you didn’t want to be fucking bummer—but you’d learned the hard way that the moment a green demon possessed a human, they were done. That ripping and tearing violence inside of them killed them the same as any bullet or blade. 

So you don’t pull punches.

And you tear your knife right down the demon’s skin.

Dean catches you again, when the demon under you collapses. Holds you right to his side as he shoots the last demon—crawling up behind you with a blade angled at your calf—and keeping you there in the long moments after.

He looks like an avenging angel or something else stupidly beautiful. The arrowhead is still a weight in your pocket, and Dean’s muttering words you can barely hear over the ringing in your ears, and he’s glowing and golden and powerful—rioting in an almost righteous way, in stark contrast to the vicious fury of the green demons, rocketing out of their vessels and screeching out the windows—and you put him in danger.

Dean could’ve died. You could’ve gotten him killed.

You could’ve killed him.

And suddenly you’re not your own anymore. The rush fades and it’s all too real and Dean’s right here, but you could’ve lost him and had no one to blame but yourself because you’re cancerous and evil and wrong and can’t just save him—save something so permanent and beautiful that you have no right to be protected or served by in any way—because you’re the bad thing, you’re the sickness, you’re worse than the demons. And you’re everywhere. You’re the jagged pain of the shattered windows and the ache of the cracked walls and the shredded fever of the torn blankets and ruined couch-

“Hey,” Dean’s muttering your name, his voice low and firm, and it’s the only thing in the world that isn’t painful. “You’re good. We’re both alive, Princess, don’t- Shit, don’t cry-“

Something warm but not burning is cupping your face, and tracing your cheeks, brushing away a white-hot stain that had begun to wash out of your stinging eyes-

You are crying. And Dean—those were his hands, touching you carefully, like he was afraid you’d shatter in his hold when you’ve never felt more whole—is wiping away your tears.

You’re fucking pathetic.

And you can’t stop yourself leaning into his touch, falling into his focused certainty, and letting out a shaky breath when he starts to pet down your nose and the world sinks right back into your body.

You’re only you again.

But you’re still Dean a little, too. He’s so golden and you’re molten silver a little to the right of your heart, and those fractured pieces are surging up and around you, blooming and furious and bright, so fucking bright-

It’s good Dean pulls away right then. You’d been seconds from fusing fully back together, from something not snapping apart, but into place.

You already too far gone.

You still need to be able to pretend you’re not completely, irreversibly his. 

Neither of you speak. You don’t really see a reason to. Dean just watches you, and you watch him, and then you’re both moving.

The motel is trashed. Cracks mark up the wall, the bed and couch have been flipped, the door was fully crashed through, and there’s really no universe where anyone who sees this doesn’t call the cops. Ruby checked in, and the room was under her fake name and credit card, so all you and Dean need to do is leave. 

Dean starts to gather everything together—including your blood-stained jacket, the arrowhead stuffed safely in the jacket—as he calls Sam, telling him what happened, and that you’re skipping town. You head outside while that fun conversation happens, surveying the cars and picking the fanciest, fastest one you can find. 

“No.” Dean snaps, glowering down at you in the driver’s seat. “You’re fucking begging for attention in that this thing, sweetheart, cops will catch us in an hour-“

“So we’ll drop this at 59 minutes.” You say, holding his gaze. “And take the train from there. This car only needs to get us the furthest away, not fully out.”

Dean scowls. “I am not taking the train-“

“Yeah, you are.” You nod your head to the trunk. “Pack up and haul ass, car boy. Now.”

You get a mutter of fucking trains, but Dean does what you’re telling him and soon you’re bound for Chicago, staring at Dean from across the train compartment.

You’d gotten a compartment. And a bed.

One bed.

You’re going to stab someone. You did not pay almost two thousand dollars on a fake credit card for a double private room, only to be stuck in your most beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

Sleeping next to Dean.

You’d been careful. You’d been so fucking careful, for so many years, to not give in to being that more for Dean. Because it would never be enough. Dean could’ve flirt and tease all he wanted, he never wouldn’t convinced you to share his bed because you’d never just share his bed. It would’ve been a catalyst. Something would’ve shifted in you, and there would never be any coming back from Dean. There was the whole, vast, amazing and horrible world, and then there was Dean, and he could maybe be yours.

He’d never be yours. You weren’t something someone wanted to have. 

But that being the truth didn’t stop the longing or craving or need. It never had. So you’d made it clear that you barely slept in the same room, and you never shared a bed.

And almost six years of effort—four if you didn’t count those two years apart, which was still far too many years—were crumbled because you said room for two people, the ticket lady added who are sharing a bed in her head, and you’d only caught it when it was too late.

It could be fine. You feel like you’re about to pass out but you’re also far too paranoid to sleep, Dean had been up at the crack of dawn to steal all the hot water and it’s almost midnight, and this is a twenty-one hour ride so eventually you’ll both need to sleep. 

You could stagger it. Dean could sleep, then you could sleep. 

But then he’d realizes you don’t actually sleep, and that would be a whole thing that you didn’t need. You know you need rest. You are perfectly aware sleep is good for you.

Every single nerve is alight in your body with fear that a demon will crash through that door as well, the Darkness is one wrong nightmare or sound from bursting out of your body, and guilt is swollen in your stomach and sticking in your throat as one single thought loops in your head.

You could’ve gotten Dean killed. 

He could’ve died. He’s fine—his arms crossed as the glares at the room around you, splayed out over the compartment’s chairs—but Dean could’ve died. Because of you. Because you’d dragged the green demons there, and you’d put him in danger, and you’d been useless, you’d barely held it together, you hadn’t held it together, and Dean had been there to pull you back up but what if he wasn’t-

“Stop doing that.” 

You blink at him, he jerks his head to your hands, and you realize that blood is running down your fingers. 

You hadn’t even felt it. 

And you make a choice. He needs to know. He needs to understand that you don’t mean to, you never mean to, and he’s in danger as long as he’s with you so he should run, he should kill you or put you down and then run-

“Dean.” You whisper, bracing yourself for the fallout. Telling Jo went alright, and she’d only just met you.

Dean isn’t Jo. 

He’s so much more. And even just him running might break something fundamental in your body, that lives just to the right of your heart.

He grunts. “What.”

“I- the demons-“ You stare at his hands, because you can’t stand to look at his face. Maybe those same hands will be strangling you in only seconds. You’ll find out. “I- We need to talk.”

“We’re talking right freakin’ now, Princess.”

“I know, but I-“ Deep breath. Nails in your skin. Keep it together. “They were at the motel for me. The demons, they were there for me-“

“I got that, Princess.” He grunts, and your gaze shoots up find him glowering at you, his words low and his jaw clenched. 

He knows. He’s known, or he figured it out, and it’s over but why didn’t he say anything and why aren’t you dead but why does he look like he wants to throttle you or pin you against something-

“You still have that freakin’ arrowhead.”

“I-“ You swallow, your brow furrowing as you stare at him.“What?”

“The damn arrow thing, that you wouldn’t give to Ruby-“

You shake your head, your voice growing a little stronger. “That’s not- I couldn’t give it her-“

”I’m not complaining about that, the bitch is a demon. You’d be better off trusting a damn witch or vamp.”

It’s hard not to flinch at that. You manage. “Then what are you-“

“You’re just-“ He scowls. “You can never fucking listen.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“I told you to fucking wait for me,” Dean snaps, sitting a little taller. “Those sons of bitches never would’ve even gotten to you if you’d just stayed with me.”

You don’t remember that. Your brain had been the same, blurred haze it is now, deprived of sleep and aching for Dean while only knowing that it can’t have him. 

It pokes through the fog. Dean grunting wait for me, we gotta stick together as he hunched over the ice machine, and he’d smelled so good, and you’d almost collapsed over him. 

You’d barely heard him. You’d just known you couldn’t be there, or you would’ve destroyed something that already barely held together. 

But Dean can’t know that. It will lead to more questions you’re not ready to answer, because he’d just said witch like it was barely better than demon, and just as bad as vampire.

You’re bending. You can’t.

So you raise your chin, and hold his gaze. “I didn’t hear you. And I’m fine-“

He scoffs. “You were fucking sobbing-“

“Because I just got attacked by demons-“

“Which happened,” he leans forward, his voice a hiss. “Because you didn’t listen to me. You never just fucking listen-“

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad-“

“No. And that doesn’t matter. You don’t listen to anyone. You-“ He shakes his head, and you think he’s seeing right into you. Finally, really seeing just how wrong you are, and getting ready to deliver the killing blow with only his words. “You’re so goddamn stubborn, and you’re going to get yourself fucking killed and I won’t be there to save your ass-“

“I don’t need to save my ass.” You snap. “I’m fine, Dean. I can handle myself, and I’m stubborn because I know what the hell I’m doing-“

“You’re stubborn,” he sneers. “Because you can’t stand that sometimes, sweetheart, you’re fucking wrong. You don’t listen because you hate not being in control-“

It cuts deep. You can cut deeper. “At least people listen to me, Dean. At least I can tell people what to do, instead of following someone around like a fucking dog-“

“Well at least I never fucking run! At least I don’t leave people whenever things get hard, when they-“ His shout is pushed through his teeth, and it’s almost venomous. “You fucking run. You just goddamn vanish, and act sick, when you’re fine, just can’t fucking stomach having to deal with something instead of fucking running.”

“Are you talking about the-“ You gape at him, shaking your head. “I had to leave, asshole! I fucking had to-“

He rolls his eyes. “You never have to, you just didn’t want to deal with all of our shit, but you never- You just-“

“Azazel threatened me.” You hiss, the words falling out like vomit, before you can stop them. “He told me he’d kill Bobby if I didn’t vanish.”

Dean stares at you, and you hadn’t meant to tell him that. You’d meant, earlier, to explain what was wrong with you and leave John and Azazel fully out of it. Dean had loved his dad. You’d known that, and you’d known better than to make him face the horrid truth that John was a fucking asshole, shit-headed cunt-face of a father.

Maybe that’s why you still hadn’t mentioned that John had been a part of it. Dean already looks like he’s tearing his head apart trying to figure out if he should believe you for what you did say.

You don’t need to make this worse than you already have. For either of you.

“Azazel…” Dean trials off, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically remove something from his skin. “He fucking- what-“

“He said if I didn’t leave, he’d- He’d kill Bobby.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over Dean’s shocked expression. You’re a little worried he’s going to hurt himself, with how you can see his brain whirling behind his eyes.

There’s not a lot of color on his face.

“And you- You just-“ Dean’s throat bobs, and something flashes in his eyes. “You should’ve fucking told me, I would’ve protect you-“

You shake your head, and whatever burning anger in your body had been there moments before was gone. 

You’re really just so fucking tired.

“You have enough people to protect, Dean.” You’re looking at his hands again. Curled back into fists. You want to touch his knuckles, a little bruised and swollen from the fight. At least press ice to them, keep them from getting worse. Keep Dean from being in pain. “And I was okay. Bobby’s okay. Nothing- I didn’t want to.” You swallow, choking on a lump in your throat. “I never wanted to.”

“Bobby- He said you were sick-“

“I am.” You mutter. “Two things can be true.”

“How?”

You frown at him. “How-“

“What’s wrong with you.”

You can’t tell him. Not now. You will, when you have more courage than a martyr and you’re feeling a little less intelligent, but not now. 

Now you just give him a sad, soft smile. “My- I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

He nods slowly, and suddenly he won’t meet your eyes. “Sammy could look at you. He’s smart.”

“I’m smart-“

“Yeah,” he offers you his own little half-smile, and his teeth flash white in the low light of the compartment. “But you can be real dumb, Princess.”

He hasn’t said Princess like that since you returned. In a way that feels like a name, in a way that’s almost more than affectionate. Filled with an odd honor you can’t place, and tugging your own smile a little wider.

And everything blends, so easily, back to silver.

You pull out a book. Dean locks the door and starts to clean his gun, humming low music until you chuck your iPod at his face. 

He grumbles, but put his earbuds in, and starts to stretch out on the seats. 

It’s a silent decision he’s making himself. Dean will sleep on the seats, you’ll sleep on the bed.

You won’t sleep on the bed. You’ll pretend to, ignoring how he’s right there. You’ll stare at the ceiling and count the little dot on it to pass the time, and everything will be better in the morning, when Dean is—maybe, just maybe—your friend again, and he’s safe, and you’re in pain and exhausted, but that’s okay-

“Go to sleep,” Dean mutters your name, and you frown.

“I am asleep.”

You think you hear him chuckle. “Sleep more, than.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, De. You always are.”

You can hear his frown through the dark. “I don’t love the third degree, sweetheart-“

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe. You need fuckin’ sleep.” He pauses, his voice getting slightly softer. “I’ve- You don’t sleep. You gotta sleep.”

You let out a long breath, frowning at the ceiling. “I can’t.”

“Because you’re sick?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “It’s- Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence, then- “What does Bobby do.”

“He-“ You swallow. “When I was younger he’d do a sweep of my room. Like a real hunt.”

“And now-“

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

You think you can hear Dean’s brain moving, and you don’t know why this matters to him so much. It’s just sleep. You’ve lived like this forever, worse and worse over time, and eventually you’ll just pass out and everything will be fine-

“Would it help if I was there? With- uh- with my gun?”

His voice isn’t as firm as usual, and it’s almost nervous. Like he’s afraid of the answer.

And you should say no. A gun wouldn’t even do anything, not with these demons.

But you’re tired, and that always makes you weaker. And Dean’s here, and that always makes you dumber.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

You hear him moving from the seats without any further conversation, and when his weight settles beside you, his thigh presses to yours. 

It would be too much if it was Dean. If his warmth wasn’t something you’d always chased after, even when you’d both be sweating in Georgia or Texas, even when your blood had been running high and the sun had been beating down on your skin.

Up close, it’s so easy to fold into. It’s soothing, and he smells like grass and spice all around you, and when your eyes flutter open for even a second the whole world is softly glowing with gold.

It’s imprinting deeper on your body, just from how close he is. Not everywhere, but close. And the gold is sinking so far down you’ll never be able to pull it back out. Those fractured pieces are so terrifyingly close to growing fully back together, and you don’t know what you’ll become when they do.

You can’t really find it in you to care.

The sound of Dean’s snoring is like a lullaby, and the smell of his is like an anesthetic and just his presence is making the world something peaceful. 

For the first time in years, sleep comes fast, and you go down without a fight. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel truly rested when you wake up. 

End Note: Sam Winchester you are once again God’s strongest solider for not grabbing them and mashing them together like they’re barbie and ken dolls. I just know he spent his whole trip with Ruby bitching about how impossible they are. Thank you for your service my king.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Exactly what it says on the tin. Established ghoap, bringing in fem!reader roommate. Poor writing. Reader has had any identifying features removed, but she owns a Ford Fiesta. Take that as you will. Just testing to see if there is interest in a lighthearted fun sexy fic like this. 🩶

*

“Remember. You’re desperate,” you muttered to yourself looking at your reflection in the rearview mirror of your tiny Ford Fiesta. The ink might as well still be fresh on the ad your roommate printed off for you (the perfect symbol of her guilt for moving back in with her boyfriend and forcing you to find a new apartment and new roommates in the first place).

The ad reads as thus: WANTED: ANY GENDER WELCOME to fill the second bedroom in a 2b/2ba 1290sq ft apartment. DOWNTOWN. In-building laundry. Utilities and rent split EVENLY amongst 3. NO FASCISTS, NO HOMOPHOBES.

It was the most promising ad you had seen after days of scouring the internet in your every spare moment (usually reserved for those moments when you were on break during shifts, feet and back aching, hating your life OR at the end of a long day when the post-sunset depression hit with all the force of a typhoon). Any two people who were against fascism and homophobia were alright in your book. As for the finer details—well. You were desperate. You were going to have to overlook any skeletons in their closets, as long as those skeletons weren’t literal.

I’m texting about the apartment downtown. Is this the right number?

Yeah, you’ve got it. Nice to text ya. You’re interested?

Very. Is there somewhere we could meet to discuss the details?

We don’t mind showing the apartment. Got a few others coming to see it as well. You cursed up a storm reading over that particular text, so much so that your roommate’s boyfriend knocked angrily on the thin walls separating your bedrooms. Scowling, you knocked back—a little too angry to be mistaken for conciliatory. You blamed that bastard for your troubles in the first place.

I’ll see it ASAP, if that’s okay.

Go-getter. How soon can you be here?

Which is how you found yourself in the parking lot of the building, hastily combing hairs back into place, hoping for some semblance of presentability. If only there was a way to hide the desperation in your eyes…

The apartment complex itself is everything you could have hoped for. It even has an indoor pool, which is a step up from the facilities offered at your own apartment. The rent is a little higher than what you were pulling at your old place, but you think you can manage it if you cut back on excess frivolities. And any joy. (Joy costs)

There’s a doorman even—an honest to god doorman! He instructs you on the way to the elevators, and you take them up to the top floor, feeling your ears pop from the change in altitude. By the time you’re standing in front of their door, your knees are knocking together, terrified of who you might be meeting. Even more terrified that they might not like you, that they might say no—

—and the door opens, shattering any expectation you have. The man standing there is undoubtedly, ungodly, unseemly, obscenely hot. His head nearly brushes the frame of the door, blond hair wild and mussed, like he’s just had the fuck of his life. He’s thick, too, muscles on muscles along his corded forearms, bared by the dark tee that stretches across his chest.

He is pale and dark eyed and frowning down at you so sternly that you are convinced you have knocked on the wrong door. God help you. It’s all an honest mistake—but then his gravelly, softly-accented voice says: “You’re here about the apartment?”

Your heart nearly stops. This is the person who owns the apartment? How could you be expected to live alongside this behemoth? Just as you are about to tuck tail and run, a hand grips the man’s shoulder and gently tugs him aside and another specimen—two of them! two!—appears. This one has his hair cropped in a Mohawk, his eyes a deep drown-worthy blue. A few inches shorter, he is just as impressive shape. He beams at you.

“Well!” he says, leaning on the door frame in a way that fetchingly shows off the cut muscles of his arm and chest. His voice is accented too, something rougher, different than the taller man’s. “You aren’t what I was expecting. Unless yer just a wee fascist.”

You blink. You had been thinking the very same. Your hackles rise on instinct, bristling in preemptive outrage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve had a type answering the ad,” the other man says dryly. “Johnny doesn’t mean nothing. Come in—if you’re still interested in the apartment.”

It crosses your mind that this is perhaps foolish: entering an apartment of strange men, regardless of how you had left the address with your roommate and specified a time to check in with her. But you’re desperate. So you slip in after them, Johnny making ample room for you to move past him in the doorway.

When you do, you smell his shower gel, something woodsy. You say a prayer that you aren’t drooling.

Your eyes roam over the open-concept apartment. The living room and kitchen are combined, larger than you might have imagined. It is homier, too, for a place where two men live: there are pictures along the walls, potted plants in the corners and on the desk, and an easel overlooking the balcony in the corner, an oil half-rendering of the view outside.

It is tidy. It smells nice. It is owned by two of the hottest men you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.

“I want it,” you blurt out.

Johnny laughs. “Sure ya do. Let us show you everything and then we’ll talk.”

You barely manage to contain your impatience as they lead you room to room. The guest room is empty, except for some boxes that Johnny hastily promises can be moved. The closets have no skeletons (you check). You would have your own bathroom. The more you see, the more convinced you are that this would be an ideal apartment regardless of who was offering it to you, but the frequent banter between the two men (Johnny and Simon you find out) is so entertaining and inviting that it’s hard not to feel like they want you—to be their third. Roommate that is.

After every nook and cranny of the apartment has been seen, they seat themselves on the loveseat and you on the adjacent armchair, your fingers interlaced like a businesswoman about to make the deal of her lifetime.

“I still want the room,” you admit. Johnny smiles, an expression that you sense comes easily to his face. His smile falls a little when you continue: “I just have one question. Why the vacancy?”

Simon takes a measured breath. The silence grows thick as they share a glance, communicating silently in a way that only two who have known each other—who have been through things with each other—can. At length, he says: “We’re ex-military. Disabled.”

That explained the cane Johnny had been using to move around the apartment.

“The benefits were excellent until recently, when we saw a generous…cut to our monthly pay.”

You frown. “That’s terrible. Why would they do that?”

Johnny gives a breathless little laugh. His hand comes down slowly to rest on Simon’s knee. You stare, unsure what you are seeing. “Well, it happens…when you get married.”

-

“That explains a lot,” your roommate says when you spill every little detail after driving home. By the time you arrive, her insufferable boyfriend is gone for the night (thank God) so it is just the two of you, like the good old days. “Namely why two men in a two bedroom apartment are looking for a roommate.”

“I didn’t even think of it,” you groan, palming at your eyes. “Am I homophobic?”

“No, just desperate and wishful,” she teases. She has no idea how accurate she is. It’s been years—literal years since you’ve been with anyone of substance. In the meantime, you’d been happy to settle for your fingers and your toys, but there was the occasional itch that only a cock could scratch in you. Figuratively. “This is a good thing though. The last thing you need is getting tangled up with your new roommates. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Instead I’ll be in the middle of their marital bliss. Or lack of, depending on the day,” you suggest dryly. But you aren’t even sure how much you believe your own words. Simon and Johnny said they had been together for nearly ten years, and more than their words, you had seen them with your own eyes—the way they gravitated to each other, the way their eyes were never far from each other. The way they roasted each other so good-naturedly. They seemed like a couple who were past their seven year itch, who had grown older and comfortable with each other. They seemed like they had their shit together.

Did it make you terrible that you still wanted to be pinned between them like a bug in a science project?

“Then tell them no,” she says, sitting on the edge of your bed. You see the guilt in her eyes, and it makes you just a little vindicated. Which makes you feel terrible. “You’ll find something. I promise. You could always stay with us until you do—“

“God no. No offense.”

“None taken. I think.”

You sigh. You nudge her with your foot. “Alright, out, I need to think.”

But it takes such little thought when Johnny (affectionately added to your phone) messages not ten minutes later.

I don’t want to rush ya, but another person asked to see the apartment. Should I show them?

No way, you text. That room is mine.

[comatosebunny09]

kindle | leon k.

genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, modern au

warning(s): language, mutual pining, soft boi leon, stream of consciousness

Leon does these things that confuse the hell out of you while you’re on missions or around the office. You’re his partner—work partner—but sometimes you feel like a little more. More than the younger sibling caught beneath the shadow of an overbearing brother. 

You don’t really know where things are going because he’s made it glaringly obvious in the past that he doesn't mix work with pleasure. However, something’s clearly shifted in your relationship as of late. Yet, you can’t, for the life of you, pinpoint what it is or when it happened. 

Oftentimes, you catch him gazing at you in your peripheral, a fondness inhabiting his eyes like you’ve never seen with the slightest quirk to his lips. That softness remains when a battle-worn thumb swipes blood from your cheek or rubs grime from your jaw. 

Sometimes, he holds your chin between his fingers and tilts your head this way and that—much to your chagrin—to make sure you’re devoid of injuries. Though, you never miss how his irises glitter like the sunset against sea waves, and his lips part a little as he relinquishes the softest, most relieved sigh to the air. And sometimes, you stand like this for eons, confused yet enamored, until the wet garble of a zombie springs you two apart. 

You never miss how a cautious hand finds the small of your back while you’re hunched over paperwork at your desk. How it burns through the thickness of your blazer, causing your heart to work overtime. And Leon beams so boyishly, bowing over to swaddle you in his warmth and cologne as he quips how “you’ve got your work cut out for you.” Yet, as much as he hates filling out reports himself, he stays until the moon sits high in the sky to help you finish. 

He always walks you to your car afterwards, arguing that, shit yeah, you can handle yourself. You suplex the undead for a living. But he’d fling himself off a cliff if his dear partner got snatched up in the parking garage. And he always lingers around a little longer after you pull off, a tender smile cresting across his lips in your rearview mirror. 

But he’s your partner. He’s supposed to do things like that, right? 

Like, he’s supposed to bring you food when you forget to eat—which is quite often. He’s supposed to show up to your apartment to check on you on your days off, promising his company, booze, and terrible romcoms. Supposed to hold you in your bed until you surrender your consciousness to the pretty little girls of slumber. And maybe, just maybe, it’s standard for your partner to kiss you quietly behind your ear and embrace you tighter when you squirm and chuckle and sigh wistfully in your sleep.

Through the wispy haze and the grogginess and the darkness inhabiting your bedroom, you shift to gather his cheeks in your palms—maybe you’re awake. Perhaps you’re still lurking below the shadowy depths of sleep. Who knows—and you kiss him. Cautious, but you kiss him. And though he’s initially thrown off kilter by the suddenness of it all, he relaxes against the suppleness of your lips. And his brows furrow as if he’s waited millennia for this moment. And his throat crackles with a quieted, hoarse sound as his hands perch on your hips, drawing you ever closer until your wrists cross behind his neck, and—

And…

Well, this is totally normal. Right?

part 2 >>

[starkeymeow]

plot ── after you undergo a procedure to erase rafe from your memory, rafe, devastated by the realization, decides to do the same, only to find himself fighting to hold onto the love you shared, proving that some connections can never truly be forgotten.

content ── softer rafe & reader dynamic in here than weve seen (just because i needed them to connect here), but beach getaway flashback!! yayy

authors note ── remember we left off with “what was ur happiest memory?” on the last chapter !! if ud still like to be part of the tag list, feel free to lmk thru replies, anons, dms, or reblogs <3

* italic text = present!rafe talking to hartwell about the question / happiest memory story

main masterlist | previous

“there was this secluded beach, like a . . . hidden spot on the island that i wanted to take her to.”

the sound of the tires humming over the road, the occasional thud of a passing pothole, was the only thing filling the silence of the truck. rafe’s fingers tapped against the steering wheel lazily, keeping the rhythm with the song that played on the radio.

he didn’t need to check on you. he could hear your soft breathing, steady, peaceful. you’ve always fallen asleep in the truck with ease. it’s the kind of sleep that came with trust, the kind that made rafe feel like maybe this was all just normal for you. comfortable. safe.

the wind blew through the slightly cracked window, ruffling his hair, tugging at his shirt. he could feel the pull of the sunset coming through the rearview mirror, lighting up the sky in an almost electric orange, brushing against the horizon. he loved moments like this, moments where everything felt like it was just right. even if he couldn’t figure out what exactly was right about it.

and then, the soft stir from beside him. the kind of stirring that made rafe grin without even realizing it. it was like the truck had a way of waking you up from naps, whether you liked it or not.

your arm shifted slightly, lazily stretching out of the window, your fingers dancing against the air, feeling the wind rush by. he could hear you breathing, and then, after a beat, a small grin spread across your face. you slowly lifted your head, peering at him over your shoulder, all half-lidded eyes and sleepy smiles.

“you know, i’m not sure how i feel about you taking me to a secret spot,” you said. “what if it’s a bad secret, rafe?”

“why the fuck would it be a bad secret?” he replied, pulling the truck into a slight curve in the road. “it’s a good one. trust me. you’ll like it.”

“mhm. we’ll see,” you teased, half-turning in your seat, your fingers still moving in the breeze. “you always promise things like that. last time you said a beach was ‘super secluded’ and it turned out to be packed with tourists.”

rafe rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched up. “they don’t count as tourists when they’re locals,” he shot back, though it lacked the usual bite.

you scoffed, but your grin stayed. “right, right. locals.” you leaned your elbow against the car door, the motion smooth, like you’d done it a thousand times before. “i don’t know, rafe . . . you're gonna have to prove it’s worth it.”

he could feel the tension of his day fade just a little bit, easing into the flow of the conversation. “yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his eyes still focused on the road, “you’ll see. trust me.”

you made a soft sound, something between a hum and a sigh. it was a sound that made his chest tighten just a little bit. “i trust you,” you said after a beat, quiet but honest.

rafe shifted his eyes to you for a moment, catching the way your hair fell across your face, your skin glowing with the soft reflection of the sunset. he didn’t want to break the moment.

you both fell into a comfortable silence then, not an uncomfortable one, but a quiet that felt more like you didn’t need to say anything.

the wind picked up slightly, and you didn’t seem to mind. the sun dipped lower in the sky, the orange glow growing warmer as it painted the world in hues of pink and gold. rafe knew you were almost there. just a little longer. it was always moments like these that made him feel like everything could be perfect. at least for a while.

“it was like one of those weeks where everything that could go wrong, did. we both needed a break, and fast. i figured we had to go somewhere . . . somewhere we could just forget about everything for a while.”

you were already running ahead before rafe had even fully parked the truck, a big blanket tucked tightly against your chest. you could practically hear the excitement in the way you moved. there was no hesitation, no time for anything else. you were off, sprinting ahead through the soft sand, and rafe couldn’t help but shake his head, a smile tugging at his lips as he followed behind, two bags of snacks and drinks dangling from his arms.

he’d parked the truck right on the edge of the beach, just a little away from the waterline. no people, no parking lot. just sand and sea, stretching out into nothing. it felt like the kind of place no one would think to come, and rafe loved that about it.

when he caught up to you, you were already trying to set up the blanket, tugging it out onto the sand, but your impatience got the better of you. with a frustrated huff, you tossed one corner down only for the whole blanket to flop in an uncoordinated heap.

before you even had a chance to complain, you were running back to him, your grin wide and uncontainable, like you couldn’t wait another second.

“you seriously can’t even set up a blanket?” rafe teased.

you didn’t waste any time, leaping into his arms, catching him by surprise. the bags he was carrying dropped onto the sand with a soft thud as he caught you, lifting you up by your legs. he adjusted his hold to make sure you were comfortable.

he looked into your eyes, something unreadable flickering there before a faint smirk tugged at his mouth. my girl, he thought to himself, but then you squirmed in his arms, the shift of energy between the two of you snapping him back into the moment.

“so,” you started, looking up at him with mischief written all over your face, “what are we doing first? you get first pick, or am i making the call?”

rafe rolled his eyes. “you’re gonna make me go first, huh?” he said, his voice teasing. “fine, if i get first pick, i say we both go into the water.”

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms and looking like you were about to challenge him. “you mean, you want to throw me into the water, right? that’s your big move, huh?”

“well . . .” he chuckled, “you are light. wouldn’t take much.”

your eyes narrowed immediately. “oh, trust me," you said, “i would rather shit in my hands and clap than let you throw me into that water.”

rafe laughed out loud, shaking his head. “baby, you’re disgusting,” he muttered, though his smile only grew wider. “but fine, i get it. no throwing you in the water. for now.”

you shot him a look, a challenge in your eyes. “don’t forget, you still owe me for that time you pushed me off the dock. this is just payback for that.”

he smirked at you, still holding you up easily, letting you squirm in his arms as though you could escape if you tried. “i owe you nothing. that was a fair trade.”

you scoffed, twisting a little in his hold as if to break free, but he wasn’t about to let you go just yet. “whatever, rafe. just wait,” you murmured. “i’ll get you back for that one day.”

rafe didn’t take you seriously, though, his smile only deepening. “i’m counting on it.”

you just shook your head, the two of you falling into a rhythm of small, teasing jabs, back and forth as natural as breathing. the tension between you two wasn’t just playful; it was a kind of familiarity, the kind of easy rhythm only people who’d been together for a while knew.

as he finally set you down, you reached over to grab the blanket and toss it properly onto the sand, a little more carefully this time. rafe moved behind you, unwrapping the snacks he’d brought. the moment felt light, like you both had nowhere else to be, and the day could stretch on forever.

still, he couldn’t shake that nagging feeling in the back of his mind. this was the kind of peace he wanted to hold onto, the kind that made him forget about all the things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

eventually you kicked your shoes off with a grin, tossing them to the side before grabbing the sandwich from your lap and sinking back onto the blanket, back-first. you stretched out, adjusting your position to get comfortable, sandwich in both hands, and took a big bite.

you glanced over at rafe, who was still unpacking and cracking open a can of beer.

“you know,” you started, mouth full but still able to talk clearly, “i heard from john b that topper showed up at his party, like, totally uninvited.” you shrugged, chewing the bite as you laid back, your legs crossed over each other. “he’s crazy. like, why even show up if you know you're just gonna make a scene?”

rafe leaned back against the truck, taking a long drink from his beer and nodding lazily, eyes flicking to you. “sounds like some drama you’d love,” he teased, his voice laid-back and low.

you shrugged again, taking another bite. “honestly, i’m just curious. i’m not like, obsessed with it or anything.” you bit into the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully for a second. “but it’s funny how people act like they have some ownership over a situation just because they’ve been in it longer or whatever. like, do they really think they can just show up and stir things up?”

rafe sat down on the blanket next to you, still keeping his distance, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his hands. he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at you in that way he did when he was trying to figure you out. “you talk like you’re an expert in the whole ‘drama’ thing,” he said, half-mocking, half-serious.

“what can i say? i know how to handle a mess when i see one,” you smirked, tapping your fingers against the sandwich wrapper before putting it down on the blanket. you laid there for a few seconds, just staring up at the sky as if in deep thought, before something shifted in your mind.

you rolled onto your stomach, turning your head so that you were looking straight at rafe. “you know,” you started again, voice much more serious this time, “we should do something. like, a getaway.”

rafe raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of his beer but not responding immediately. you could tell he was a little confused, but you pressed on.

“what do you mean, a getaway?” he asked, half-smiling, as if trying to figure out what you meant by it.

you gave him a look, a mix of determination and playful seriousness. “you know, like . . . another trip, but like, an actual one. just us. somewhere we can just, like, reset or whatever. we’ve had one hell of a week, and i think it would be nice to just—” you paused, biting your lip for a moment, “—go somewhere else, just for a couple of days, you know?”

rafe stayed silent for a while, his brow furrowing slightly as he thought about it. you could see the gears turning in his head, the kind of hesitation that made you wonder if he wasn’t entirely sure what you were getting at. you let him stew in it for a moment, rolling back onto your back, your gaze still fixed on the sky.

finally, rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair before he shifted on the blanket. “you always want to get away. i mean, i get it, this whole thing is a bit much, but you know—”

you didn’t let him finish, cutting him off with a grin. “it’s not like we’re running away from everything. i just think we need it. you need it too. it’s been a week. hell, it’s been a month.”

rafe was quiet again, and for a second you thought he was going to shoot down the idea. but then, slowly, he sat up, setting his beer down next to him on the sand. without saying another word, he laid back down beside you, parallel to your body but facing the opposite way, his head tilted to the sky, just like you.

you looked over at him from your upside-down vantage point, catching the faintest trace of a smile on his face, the kind that was rare, but always there when he wasn’t trying to hide it. his eyes were closed for a moment as he settled into the sand, his body relaxed but not entirely at ease. the soft rustling of the wind was the only sound between you, and for once, it felt like you didn’t need to fill the silence.

“so,” you said again, breaking the quiet, “where would you go?”

rafe didn't answer right away, and you could feel the weight of it, the way he was still mulling it over. finally, he turned his head just slightly so that his eyes met yours, the corners of his mouth lifting up into a small smile.

“maybe somewhere far,” he said, voice almost contemplative. “somewhere . . . where nobody knows us.”

you grinned at him, your heart lifting a little. “obviously, but no, that sounds perfect,” you said softly, letting your eyes drift back up to the sky.

the two of you laid there, side by side, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. the world felt smaller here, the worries of the day slipping away with every breath. you didn’t have to say anything more. at least not yet.

but after a few silences, you could tell he was getting uncomfortable. you knew him well enough to recognize it. rafe didn’t like being still for too long. he usually gets bored and antsy when there’s nothing to distract him. it’s not a bad thing, but when he’s quiet for too long, you know it’s only a matter of time before he’s about to make some dumb joke or break the tension in some way.

you rolled up the sandwich wrapper in your hands and tossed it aside into one of the bags, your eyes glancing over to where rafe’s laying back on the blanket, staring up at the sky. you decided it was time to shake things up.

“get up,” you said.

he didn’t move at first. just stared at you, confused, maybe even a little disgusted, but you knew it wasn’t real disgust. it was more like he had no clue what you were up to. “what?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“get up, come on,” you repeated, now standing and pulling your jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall to the sand. you tossed it aside without looking at him, already feeling the cool evening air on your skin.

he stayed where he was, still lying back, but now he was just watching you with a little more caution in his eyes. then, you pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it to the side too, your movements casual like it was no big deal. you knew exactly what you were doing. he watched you for a moment, silence between you both. his expression shifted from confusion to hesitation as you unbuttoned your shorts next.

“what are you doing?” he finally asked, a little too seriously for your taste, but you didn’t pause.

“we’re going skinny dipping,” you said with a grin, your voice almost teasing. “running into the water, no clothes. that’s the rule.”

rafe’s eyes widened for a split second, and then he leaned up, sitting back. “are you out of your mind?” he said, voice cracking a little with disbelief. “it’s freezing cold out here, y/n. there’s no way i’m—”

but before he could finish his sentence, you lunged forward, grabbing his arm with purpose, pulling him up to his feet. “come on, rafe. lighten up,” you said. “it’ll be fun.”

he glanced down at the water in the distance, eyes narrowing. the sound of the waves crashing against the shore seemed to mock his hesitation. he looked back at you, and you could see the battle waging inside him. he wasn’t sure if he wanted to take the plunge. but you weren’t letting go.

“you’re crazy,” he muttered under his breath, clearly not convinced.

you tugged harder, pulling his arm toward the edge of the sand, your own heart pounding with excitement. “you don’t know what fun is until you try it,” you teased. “don’t be such a baby.”

he stayed frozen for a moment longer, fighting the urge to just sit back down and roll his eyes at you, but eventually, he gave in, and he was ridding of his clothes and tossing them aside, just like you were. you could see it in his eyes as he let you pull him closer to the water’s edge, despite his protests. “this is stupid,” he grumbled, though the smile playing at the corners of his lips betrayed him.

you both stopped at the water’s edge, and you glanced at him one last time. “ready?” you asked. convincing him to do what you wanted was so easy.

“i fucking hate you,” rafe grumbled under his breath.

“five,” you counted, grinning like you were already winning.

“seriously, i’m driving home without you after this,” he added, but there was obviously no way he was actually leaving you behind.

“four,” you continued, pulling harder now, your hands tightening on his arm.

“i swear to god, y/n— three,” he started, trying to sound like he meant it, but you were already laughing.

“two,” you said, your voice rising with excitement. rafe’s eyes had flicked to you, a mix of annoyance and disbelief, but also a little something else. maybe it was the challenge. maybe he had known you wouldn’t back down.

“one,” you’d called, and in that instant, you had yanked him along, laughing loud as you ran toward the water, the adrenaline flowing in your veins. you had felt the cold spray as the water splashed around your legs, and it felt like freedom.

without thinking, without hesitation, you had leapt into the water, diving under the surface and leaving everything behind. the water had swallowed you whole, and for a second, everything had been calm.

then, you’d pushed yourself back up, breaking the surface, gasping for air and wiping the saltwater from your eyes.

you glanced around and saw rafe still standing in the shallow end, just a few feet from the shore, wiping his face in disbelief. you laughed, feeling the pull of the waves around you. you hadn’t cared that rafe didn’t go as deep as you had, you just knew that he was still there, and you were having too much fun to stop now.

you floated in place for a second, catching your breath, and then you had heard him, his voice barely carrying over the water. “baby,” he had called out, his feet still grounded in the sand, but there had been a soft chuckle underneath, a reluctant admission of how ridiculous it all was.

you had turned back to him, your grin wide, and had swum toward him. “you coming or what?” you teased, watching as he had slowly taken a step deeper, then another, his body instinctively following you into the water.

“it was everything that i needed, in one day.”

a/n: sorry but LMFAOO im writing this scene a day later so bear w me if thjs is a sudden switch & if i approach it horribly

eventually the night settled deep. rafe took another slow drag from the joint between his fingers. you two were still damp, the salt of the ocean clinging to your skin. you sat beside him, knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, your wet hair gathered over one shoulder. every so often, a gust of wind would roll in from the water, lifting strands of it and sending a shiver down your spine. but you didn’t move, didn’t speak. neither of you did.

the silence stretched, comfortable but heavy. rafe exhaled a long breath of smoke, watching it disappear into the night. he glanced down at his lap, tapping the joint lightly between his fingers, hesitant. like he was weighing something in his mind. you didn’t rush him. you knew better than that.

“i don’t know how to be what you need.” the words left him suddenly, like they had been sitting there for too long, pressing against his ribs, waiting for an opening. his voice was quieter than usual, a little rough around the edges.

you turned your head slightly, watching him as he stared down at his hands. he was never good at saying shit like this. never good at letting his guard down unless something, anger, frustration, adrenaline, forced it out of him. but this was different. this was rafe, high and tired and finally willing to let the words slip through the cracks.

“i’ve been thinking about it,” he admitted, rolling the joint between his fingers. “a lot, actually. probably too much. and i keep coming back to the same thing.”

you waited.

“i don’t know how to do this,” he muttered, shaking his head. “not the way you deserve.”

his knee bounced once before he stopped it, pressing his palm down against it like he could physically stop himself from unraveling. his jaw tightened for a second before he exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to keep going.

“you’re just . . . better at this. at knowing what you want. at knowing how to be in something without ruining it.” he let out a small, humorless laugh, looking off toward the waves. “i don’t think i’ve ever known how to do that.”

your grip around your legs tightened, but you didn’t interrupt.

he ran a hand through his damp hair, tugging slightly at the ends before letting it fall back into place. “i feel like every time i try, i just— fuck it up. like i’m wired to.” he took another hit, holding it for a second before exhaling slowly. “and it’s not like i want to. but sometimes i just . . . i don’t know. i feel like i don’t know how else to be.”

there was a long pause.

you shifted slightly, resting your chin against your knee as you studied him. he was still looking away, brows furrowed, his fingers tightening briefly around the joint before he passed it to you without a word.

for once, he wasn’t looking for a fight. he wasn’t trying to argue, or defend himself, or spin things around so they hurt less. he was just saying it. plain and simple.

you took the joint from him but didn’t take a hit, just held it between your fingers, watching the ember glow softly in the dark. and for once, you didn’t try to fix it. didn’t try to fix him.

you just let him be.

you rolled the joint between your fingers, slow and thoughtful, before finally speaking. “i don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” you said, your voice quiet but sure.

rafe didn’t react right away. he just stared ahead, jaw tense, waiting.

you took a breath, lifting your gaze to him. “you act like you’re supposed to have it all figured out. like if you don’t, then you’re already losing.” you shook your head slightly. “but nobody really does. not in the way you think.”

his fingers flexed slightly against his knee, but he still didn’t look at you. so you kept going.

“i never needed you to be perfect,” you said, your voice softer now. “i just needed you to try.”

he didn’t move, didn’t react. just sat there, gaze stuck to the ocean like he was trying to convince himself none of this was happening. like if he focused hard enough, he could ignore it, ignore you.

but you weren’t letting him off easy.

you shifted, tucking your legs in closer to your chest, turning just enough so you could watch him again. you rested your chin against your knee, waiting.

rafes stubborn, you knew that better than anyone. he could sit in silence for hours if it meant avoiding a conversation he didn’t want to have. and maybe a few months ago, you would’ve let him. but not now. not tonight.

when he still didn’t speak, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his arm. it was soft, barely there, but enough to make him go still. his skin was warm despite the cool night air, and he smelled like saltwater and weed, with something deeper underneath, something that was just rafe.

you stayed there for a second longer than you should have, letting yourself breathe him in, before pulling back.

without a word, you took the joint and held it up to his lips. he hesitated, just for a moment, before finally parting them, letting you press the filter against them as he inhaled.

then you watched him exhale, the smoke curling between you before drifting up into the night, and so you brought the joint to your own lips.

as you took a slow, deliberate drag, rafe finally looked at you. really looked at you.

his blue eyes were darker now, heavy-lidded and unreadable. but there was something in the way he was watching you, something almost unguarded.

before you could exhale, he leaned in, closing the space between you in an instant.

the kiss was deep, slow, his lips warm and familiar against yours. he tasted like smoke and salt, like something that felt a little too much like home.

you let him pull you under, let yourself sink into the feeling of him, until you finally parted, releasing a breath.

the smoke slipped from your mouth, curling around the space between you before disappearing into the air.

your eyes locked onto his, unflinching.

“i love you,” you said, steady, certain. “okay?” like you needed him to hear it. like he had no choice but to believe you.

his gaze softened, and for a second, you saw the weight of everything behind those blue eyes. he didn’t say anything at first, but he nodded slowly, like he needed a moment to process it, but also like he understood.

without another word, you reached up and tugged him in, wrapping your arms around the back of his head, pulling him into the comfort of your embrace.

his arms instinctively came around you, securing you close, almost like you were a teddy bear he needed to hold onto. the tension in his body seemed to melt into the hug, as though all the things he’d been carrying around were just . . . lifted for a second.

you pressed your lips to the top of his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him again, and stared at the sand beneath you.

rafe held you tighter, his arms squeezing around you as though he didn’t want to let go. you could feel the pressure of his arms, the tightness in the way he held you, as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this moment, to reality.

he murmured quietly into your hair, like the words were the only thing left he could offer, “i love you.”

a/n: gur wtf was this choppy??? idk this is what im saying about long parts cs MY TRANSITIONS R SO BUTT ugh i cant do this im gts

@luvrclub @nemesyaaa @flvredcas @montanajgbn @f4dedtouch @psychocitylights @faephoria @annaconscience @congratsloserr @rafekisser @grandfartvoid @vampiriito @countryclubwhore @yktayy9669 @lilou0401 @gemininormouzz @k4yr14 @pinkamenap1e @nelo321 @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @dreamybabbyy @peachyparkerr @drewstarkeytruelove @wtfisastiles @adoreeyou @rafestar @nymphetkoo @honeyluvsatj @reeseswirl

[dyingfeline]

a look back

[strungnews]

BUT IM ALWAYS GONNA BE WHEREVER YOU ARE

Her two idiots. Her two clowns, the circus she's been made to run. Who would have known despite the glaring differences between the two of you, you could be so alike?

Mark has circled on the same spot for the past 5 turns with you at the passenger seat hastily trying to correct and navigate through the place.

She knew you and Mark weren’t the best with places, geography was hard to remember! She tried to convince herself.

But with a digital map already in your hand to lead the way and Mark on the driver’s seat, it was still helpless to stop the bumbling force that was the two of you.

“Ugh! Mark, how the hell did you become a hero if you can’t follow basic directions!” Phone now up close to his face while he distractedly drives. Passing by a very familiar tree for the nth time.

“Because! Usually im being given the proper location and orders on what to do!” Mark’s just as heated and frustrated, his tone a tad clipped and gritted so he wouldn’t blow his fuse.

All the while Eve sits at the back with her arms crossed. Watching amusedly at the two of you.

In her eyes, you were two dogs barking at who could get the treat first, the food growing cold and stale the louder you bark at on another.

The directions were straightforward, it even had a trail to follow through with signs incase anyone got lost. But with Mark's constant insistence of 'This way!' and you going 'That way!' nothing progressed.

Seeing as enough time was passing by, Eve butts in the middle of the console. Both you and Mark's expressions softens, and posture relaxing just at the sight of her.

“You guys mind if I take the lead?”

“Yes please.” You and Mark say in unison, exhausted from the bickering, and the car pulls over.

The ride is a lot more silent with Eve at the wheel. A smooth cruise as you near to your designated spot, the view of the place slowly starting to show the further she goes.

“Wow,” Mark peeks his head out form the passenger seat, an elbow poking out with him the further he looks out.

Eve thinks she doesn’t want this to ever end. She watches Mark lean from his seat, hair swaying in the soft wind, while she watches you in the rearview mirror. Your face enraptured with a small smile, the sun complimenting your face and features just right.

“We’re here.” Eve breaks her gaze and announces their final destination. Everyone hopping out excitedly with a groan from sitting in the car all day.

Everyone is speechless, they teeter at the edge just where the railing is, admiring the view in front of them. Mark and Eve had seen countless of views and sunsets, but experiencing it with you makes it all the more special.

“I wanna push you off of this ledge so bad.” You suddenly say, a dreamy sigh escapes you as you lean against Eve and kick at Mark’s leg.

“What?!” Eve snickers at Mark’s horror stricken face.

“What? You can fly.”

“Doesn’t mean you should!”

“You scared?”

“No!”

Yeah, her circus, her clowns.

a/n: An apology letter to my last post, and projection + hc cause i suck at directions and locations 😔

[alwaysmicado]

keep you warm

1.3k | Joel Miller x f!reader

post-outbreak, established relationship, pregnancy Summary: You reveal to Joel that you are carrying his child. He vows to keep you both safe and warm, always. A/N: This fic is a bit different from the things I've posted so far and it was so much fun to write. I put my heart (and tears) in it and I hope it will bring you as much comfort as it did me. 🤍 series masterlist

There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights. - Bram Stoker, Dracula

The car engine growls softly as it cruises down the winding road, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of autumnal hues.

Joel has his hands placed firmly on the wheel as he glances over at your sleeping form, your silhouette painted in the warm glow of the sunset. The air inside the car is filled with a comfortable silence, the weight of your continued journey hanging in the atmosphere.

As you navigate through the autumn landscape, daylight begins to fade, casting long shadows that sway with the curves of the road. Joel steals a glance in the rearview mirror, squinting against the diminishing light. The forest on either side of the road stands like a wall of rust and amber, a silent observer to your passage.

You stir in your sleep, a soft moan escaping your lips. Joel reaches, caressing your cheek gently, tracing a promise with tenderness he thought long gone. 

Until he met you.

A few miles ahead, Joel spots a fitting spot by the edge of the forest. He eases the car to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The engine hums into silence, leaving only the rustling of leaves and the fading whispers of the day.

“We’re here, darlin’.” 

Your eyes flutter open to Joel’s soft touch, his hand brushing away the remnants of sleep. You both step out, the cool evening air enveloping you like a gentle embrace.

Setting up camp unfolds as a familiar routine. Joel sparks a small fire, the flames dancing in the encroaching darkness. The scent of burning wood mixes with the crisp fall air, creating an ambiance that is both comforting and hauntingly beautiful. You arrange your sleeping bags near the fire, a makeshift sanctuary in the wilderness.

As you sit by the fire, the warmth casting a soft glow on your faces, Joel pulls out two cans of beans and some beef sticks. You eat in companionable silence, the crackling of the fire punctuating the stillness.

Yet, Joel can’t help but notice the subtle changes in you—grimaces and absent-minded belly rubs.

He sets his half-eaten bowl down, a subtle tension settling into the contours of his expression as he watches you closely. “You ain’t lookin’ too good, honey,” he notes, his voice laced with concern, slicing through the ambient crackling that reverberates in the air. “Somethin’ not sittin’ right?”

Gazing at Joel across the fire-lit expanse, his weathered face bathed in the flickering glow of the dancing flames, your heart swells with love—and dread.

You clutch your belly as you double over, a sudden, strong wave of nausea overcoming you. Startled, Joel’s eyes widen, but he reacts instinctively, abandoning all else to rush to your side.

With a tender urgency, he crouches beside you as you vomit, his hands moving intuitively to cradle your back. His voice, usually rugged and steady, softens into a soothing cadence. “Easy now, darlin’,” he murmurs, rubbing comforting circles on your back. “I’m right here.”

Your body tenses with each convulsion, tears mingling with the involuntary heaves, but Joel’s steady hands and reassuring words calm you.

As the waves of nausea subside, he eases you back, offering a makeshift cloth to wipe your mouth. His gaze holds a blend of worry and tenderness, the firelight flickering in the depths of his eyes.

“Thanks,” you manage, your voice still shaky.

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he replies, a crooked half-smile playing on his lips. “We look out for each other, remember?”

Nestling closer to the warmth of the fire, Joel wraps a comforting arm around you. The quiet forest listens, an unspoken witness to the vulnerability shared beneath the starlit sky.

“You gonna tell me what’s been goin’ on?” Joel asks, his voice a gentle yet firm prompt.

You swallow hard and nod weakly, lifting your head up from his shoulder to meet his gaze. His brow is furrowed as he searches your watery eyes for answers. “What happened, darlin’?” he asks, wiping away the lone tear that is tracing a delicate path down your cheek.

The unspoken secret sits heavy within you, a silent burden that has been shaping every whispered conversation and stolen glance over the past few weeks. Each passing day deepens the weight, a constant companion in your shared journey.

The fear of Joel’s reaction, the uncertainty of the world you are living in, and the vulnerability of bringing innocence into chaos weave a complex tapestry of emotions, a heavy cloak draped over the anticipation of a new life.

You have never been more terrified. 

“Joel, I–” your voice is shaky and you need to gather all your strength to not break down into a million pieces. “I think I might be pregnant.”

The revelation hangs in the air, momentarily freezing time. Joel’s eyes widen, a mosaic of emotions crossing his face—shock, concern, disbelief, and then a surprising warmth.

He reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Pregnant?” he repeats, his voice softer now, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Mhm,” you sniffle, your vulnerability echoing in the quiet night. “I swear I wanted to tell you before, I just–” you hiccup and wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your jacket. “I’m so fucking scared, Joel.” You look into his warm eyes for reassurance, your lip quivering, your whole body trembling with anxiety.  

Joel’s expression softens further, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he puts his hands on your arms, his eyes boring into you. “It’s gonna be alright, darlin’.” He pulls you into a gentle embrace, the firelight casting a comforting glow around you.

“We’ll figure it out together.”

As Joel’s reassuring words wash over you, a tangible weight lifts from your shoulders, carried away by the currents of relief. You allow yourself to breathe out a heavy sigh and let your tears run freely as you cling to the man who has saved you in more ways than he will ever know.

In this moment, beneath the vast canvas of the starlit sky, you find solace in each other—a fragile yet resilient hope kindling in the midst of your endless journey. 

Later, as you settle into your sleeping bags, Joel’s arm draped protectively over you, you feel a surge of gratitude. The warmth of Joel’s body pressed against yours creates a safe haven, momentarily replacing your fears with the undeniable comfort you both find in each other’s arms. 

“Sarah always wanted a little brother or sister,” Joel breaks the silence with a murmur, his warm breath ghosting your neck. “I wish she could be here to experience it.”

“I’m sure she’s going to look after her little sibling,” you whisper with a soft smile on your lips, tears silently pooling in the fabric of your sleeping bag. “Just like she’s been looking after you all this time.”

“I’ll do everything to keep you and our child safe and warm, my love. I promise.”

In the quiet cradle of the night, you drift into sleep, the rustling leaves and the forest’s whispers weaving a lullaby for your dreams.

Joel tenderly places his hand on your small bump, whispering promises to the precious life growing within, his words a secret shared with the quietude of the night. 

He lifts his head to look at your face, a soft smile gracing his lips as he cherishes the serenity painted across your features.

“You are the light of my life.”

-----

Series Masterlist | Joel Masterlist

[elikajinnie]

someone please tell me im not the only one whos thought of biker!enha. like imagine sunghoon on a fucking motorcycle i think i'd cry

Damn. You real for that anon, I'm on the train and now I can't stop thinking about it 😭 One of my old flings was a biker and this just sent me back. So allow me to indulge.

Read under the cut

Heeseung would honestly be the type of biker boyfriend who is romantic. Always letting you slip your arms around his waist as you sat behind him. On late-night rides, he would say shit like - “Hold tight, baby.” And look back at you just to make sure you were okay. If he was picking you up or something, he would be leaning against his bike with his helmet tucked under his arm, waiting for you.

---

Jungwon would be like all natural, like he wouldn't brag or be reckless or careless. “Safety first, you know?” Before slipping an extra helmet on you 😩 Fingers lingering under your chin to secure the strap. He loved to take you out for quiet rides, and at every stop, he’d pull you close, resting his forehead against yours and say something romantic like: “I could ride forever with you like this.”

--

Jake made riding a bike feel like freedom. He would be grinning ear to ear as you clung to him while the engine roared. He loved teasing you, revving the bike just to hear you yelp and laugh before he’d reassure you, “I’ve got you, babe. Trust me.” He would pull over to buy you snacks at diners and take cheesy photos of the two of you with his bike. To Jake, his motorcycle wasn’t just his only pride and love—it was you.

---

Jay’s biker boyfriend energy would be like a perfect show of confidence. But when you rode with him, you saw the softer side of Jay. He’d never start the bike until he made sure that you were comfortable. “If you’re not ready, I’m not moving,” he’d say. Jay loved to take you into the city at night, and he’d lean back against his bike, pulling you close to him under the stars, whispering, “No matter how fast I ride, my favorite place is here, with you.”

---

Sunghoon would be a quiet, confident biker boyfriend. He didn’t say much at first—just a quick “Hop on” with a grin—but once you were riding through the streets, the way he’d slow down for you or point out beautiful spots while saying how it reminded him of you, beautiful and romantic. Sunghoon had a habit of stealing quick glances at you in the rearview mirror and chuckling to himself when he saw your excited expression. When you got off the bike, he’d pull his helmet off dramatically, shaking his hair before looking at you with a smirk. “Don’t I look cool?” And, of course, you’d tease him back, though you knew he’d already won your heart.

---

Sunoo made being your biker boyfriend feel like being in a drama in the best way possible. He’d always make sure you felt safe and happy, adjusting your helmet for you with a teasing smile. “Can’t have my passenger princess looking anything less than perfect.” Sunoo loved taking you on rides at sunset, where he’d take breaks at scenic spots, pull out his phone to take candid pictures of you and the bike, saying, “It’s my two favorite things in one photo.”

---

Ni-ki brought excitement into every ride as your biker boyfriend. He was playful, always revving the bike a little louder when he saw you coming just to make you laugh and roll your eyes. “Ready for another ride, baby?” Before taking sharp turns, he would always yell, “Are you holding on tight?” Ni-ki had a knack for finding hidden places to stop—abandoned roads, graffiti-covered walls, or quiet lakes. You’d watch him lean casually against his bike, looking at you with a glint in his eye. “I’m not letting you off that easy. One more round?” And, of course, you could never say no.